Three Degrees to the Right
by aphelion-orion
Summary: When a city comes under attack, allegiances are severely tested. And in the middle of it are two people who have always written their own rules, three degrees to the right from everyone else. -war-era, gen, Sol and Ky-
1. I: Bad Mornings and Rude Awakenings

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Chapter:** 1/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence**  
Disclaimer: **Not mine, obviously.**  
Notes:** War-era based. I should also mention that although this lead-in will feature OCs, they will _not_ feature prominently in the rest of the story.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**

.

_Part I_

_._

_._

_._

The beeping of the intercom jerked him out of sleep, bumping his head against the sagging underside of the upper bunk. Groaning, he hunched over in the cramped space, boxes, equipment and dust encroaching on his living quarters, and fumbled for the right button in the darkness.

"I don't know how they do things in Petersburg, Private, but here, we still report for duty on time."

The sound of her voice was crisp and cool, every bit that of a straight-laced superior officer, but Mikhail thought he could hear her smile, regardless.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'll be up in ten."

A sigh, or perhaps just static. "No, you're not, but we'll skip the court-martial this time." She paused. "Oh, and make that five. Cherenkov out."

The intercom clicked off, leaving Mikhail to rub the sleep out of his eyes and comb a hand through his hair. Getting out of the blankets was a bit harder, mostly because they consisted of every sheet and cloth he'd been able to scrounge up since the heating had taken to not working at all on most days. A box of what could only be described as 'stuff' had toppled over sometime during the night, tools and spare parts tumbling all over the bedspread. Hunting down the individual pieces of his uniform took even longer—a belt here, a shirt there, wherever there was a bit of room to stash something. He wouldn't even have bothered with dress code, except Anya insisted and wouldn't budge on the matter.

It was kind of amazing that she could still be like this, after more than eleven months out here in this blank nothingness, where a wayward shrub was almost a sensational discovery. He was a city kid, all too familiar with hectic life and schedules, used to the demands of a well-oiled military apparatus. Out here, with no civilization save what they had brought with them, just a two-person team operating a creaking radio tower, he had thought that things would be different. Fewer rules, less regulations. It was the reason he had volunteered. But he hadn't counted on Anya.

Toeing on his boots, Mikhail left to start another shift in a land that never changed.

The radio center was empty, the large banks of machines blinking and whirring softly. Mikhail made his way to the dilapidated coffee maker clinging to life next to the file cabinet, inspecting the contents and trying to decide how old they were. The liquid inside was thick and black, the way Anya preferred it, and although he liked to joke, with no small amount of grimacing, that it was almost solid enough to chew, Mikhail had gotten used to drinking it, as well.

He downed a cup cold, then turned up the gas to reheat what was left in the pot.

A quick glance across the switchboards and instruments showed that they were all fine, despite some of them having been stripped to their insides. Loose parts and wires were spilling out onto the floor in more than one place, coiling around and over each other like tangles of mating snakes. It was a wonder that they didn't get fried to death simply by working on them, but Anya was nothing if not thorough in her maintenance. At this point, though, it would have probably been more accurate to say 'life extension procedures'.

Outside the large windows, dawn was breaking.

The coffee finished heating, and Mikhail poured another cup, taking it with him on his trek up the free-standing metal staircase, its railing sacrificed to repair some piece of equipment or another long before his arrival. Anya was on the lookout platform, elbows propped on the ledge, diligently scanning the area with a pair of binoculars despite the fact that there was nothing out there to see.

"I thought I said 'five minutes'?" she asked, not even turning to look at him. "Perhaps I should reconsider that court martial, after all."

Mikhail grinned. "You're free to court-martial me as much as you like, ma'am."

"Making advances towards a superior officer, Private? You do realize you're toying with your career here."

"Oh, I'm happy to keep working _under_ you for the rest of my life."

Anya laughed, then, loud and long, her face tilted towards the empty sky. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with a jagged scar marring her right cheek and a voice permanently raspy from inhaling poison fumes, but here, now, laughing into the wind, with the rising sun dying her hair the color of dancing flames… she never failed to take his breath away.

"Careful, little boy. I've been working with wild beasts all my life. I'd be more than you could handle."

"I'm sure all that riding experience would come in handy," he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

"You're hardly what I'd call a well-bred steed," Anya said, smiling sweetly.

"Ouch. I'll have you know I'm the best guy you're going to find out here."

"You're the _only_ guy I'd be finding out here, that's a difference." She turned around and leaned forward, lowering her voice to a throaty murmur. "Now be a good puppy and start checking the dish, or I'll have to whack you with a newspaper."

With that, Anya slipped past him, and it wasn't until she was halfway down the stairs that Mikhail realized she had stolen his cup.

.

* * *

.

"You know, we should take a break. There's nothing happening that would prevent us from a little date in the supply closet."

They were working in the control center, though that work mostly consisted of keeping the machines alive for the next patch day when they just might get enough material to fix one dying array out of everything in need of proper fixing, and waiting for the shift to be over. Originally, they had been working single shifts, each of them alone for eight hours with barely any communication past mumbled greetings in the hallway, until Mikhail, not used to so much silence and boredom, had started showing the first signs of cabin fever. That had mercifully prompted Anya to adjust their schedule because, in her words, seeing him rant to himself in the manner of the imminently crazy was the scariest thing she'd ever seen.

Now, she paused in adjusting the covering on a panel, and glanced at him with the tolerance of a mother towards a particularly demented toddler. "Have you cleaned that supply closet in the past month?"

"Erm."

"Then the answer is 'no'."

"Hey, I can start cleaning it right now—I'd be done in no time."

She smirked. "While you're at it, you could also clean up the fuzz trying to masquerade as a beard on your face. It's not going to convince me you're legal."

"I'll be legal next month, I'll have you know. Besides, since when does age stand in the way of true love?"

"True love between a little puppy and a scarred old guard dog. You've read too many Russian novels."

"You should read one. It might make you less of a cynic. Just think about it…" he said, swiveling in his seat with his arms spread wide, milking the shtick for all it was worth. "Grand passions, dying confessions, making love under the sta—"

"Shut up," Anya said abruptly, her voice sharp and cold.

Mikhail blinked, startled at the sudden change in her mood. He hadn't said anything, had he, to offend…?

"Look, Anya, I'm—"

"Will you shut up?" she barked, reaching over to adjust something on the console, and now he could see that she had picked up her headphones, pressing them to her ear intently.

After a minute, she frowned, lowering them slightly.

"…What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard something."

"Are you—?"

"Check the scan."

Biting his lip, Mikhail complied. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anya slipping the headset back on. "…Radar negative. Thermal scan… negative." He hesitated. "Are you sure you weren't hearing the rabbits?"

It wouldn't be the first time, honestly. The radar tended to pick up the oddest things at the oddest hours, and Anya's obsessive streak was bordering on paranoia at times. She continued flipping switches and adjusting dials, trying to recapture what she thought she'd heard. "Just now, it almost sounded like a small airship… But why would they…?"

Drawing his brows together, Mikhail glanced over the readings again. There was no way an airship could be out here, the tower too far from anywhere for someone to have gotten lost. He turned his gaze towards the window front, scanning the sky and seeing nothing. If there had been a ship close enough to give off some sort of signal, he should have been able to make it out against the light.

"Wouldn't they radio in if someone was out there?"

It wasn't like people were known for going on pleasure cruises these days, and the next shipment of supplies was still a good four months away. It was probably nothing. Anya was just imagining things, maybe she was even pulling his leg to make sure he was paying attention to the job. He ought to, he thought. The windows were all dirty, streaks of dust and specks of _something_ covering their surface, and the oddest thing was… they seemed to be moving.

"Shit!" Anya lunged for the radio. "Give me an emergency channel, right now!"

Mikhail would have loved to comply. It wouldn't have taken much, just stretching out his arm to reach the neighboring switchboard, only a twist of his fingers to find the right line. He wanted to move, but couldn't, staring riveted as the sun seemed to split, spheres of searing red detaching themselves from its glowing silhouette, growing bigger and bigger, until they seemed to eclipse everything else.

"Mikhail!"

His last thought was so absurd that he would have laughed if he could have, if the ground hadn't shaken with the force of a great impact, if shards from the splintering windowpanes hadn't pierced through his lungs—the spheres had really been quite pretty, the exact same color as Anya's hair.

.

* * *

.

The wailing alarms were ringing in his ears, filling his head to the point where nothing else existed, nothing but the piercing noise and the flashing lights, alternately plunging the corridor in and out of darkness. It was getting difficult to orient himself, to remember, foreign instincts and sensations taking control, the stink of chemicals driving him crazy.

An insect struck his chest, and then another, and another—a tiny swarm pelting him furiously, until something wet was starting to trickle down his body in thin little streams, a peculiar smell filling the air.

_Blood… I think… wasn't that it…?_

There was no pain, though, because his body was already burning up, every single cell screaming at him in time with the swelling and ebbing of the sirens. Another swarm, rapid and black and he thought he could hear them whistling, this time—

…_Bullets… someone's firing…_

_/Kill them./_

Once upon a time, there might have been a name to the face staring at him in growing terror as the last round emptied, the hollow clip clattering uselessly to the floor. Some kind of recognition, perhaps a word or two that had been exchanged in the past—"Good morning, Doctor", "How are you doing, Doctor?"—but now it was swept away under the all-consuming thought of "threat". Tearing through flesh was as easy as breathing, soft and delicate and wet—too bad he couldn't hear the sound of it—and the man crumpled to the ground, now void of a heart.

_/Irrelevant./_

The dripping, pulsing mass hit the ground, a tiny motor deprived of its purpose. This wasn't it, though, this wasn't it at all. He remembered wanting something. Something important. The reason… there had been a reason…

_/Him./_

The door ahead wouldn't budge, but it dented under the force of his weight, and a second shove tore through the metal, twisting it inwards and sending shards hurtling into the room. More pale, frightened faces were gaping at him from behind cocked guns—staccato bursts of noise replaced by screams as he ripped into them, rending the limbs from their bodies until they were broken, silent.

"How unsightly."

The voice was louder than the sirens, clearer than anything, and with it rose a wave of overwhelming fury. He turned, and caught sight of that face, flying at it without hesitation—

_/Waiting for this. We've been waiting for this./_

—his claws slicing through nothing but metal and wires, a sparking, smoking mess.

"Always so rash," the voice chided, and there was that hateful face again, and again, and again, staring down at him dispassionately.

"You really leave me no choice, Frederick, but to terminate our partnership." A smile. "You might not believe me, but I truly regret this."

The many faces vanished, one after the other, replaced by the last few seconds of a countdown, and then, the world was plunged into a sea of fire.

.

* * *

.

In the darkness, red eyes snapped open.

It took a moment for things to fall back into place, for him to realize that the biting smell of chemicals and smoke wasn't truly _here_, to notice that the dampness on his body came from sweat instead of blood and innards. Faintly, he could feel the vibration of the airship's engines, their soft hum permeating even the most distant corner.

…_haven't had that one in a while._

Humans, someone had once said, needed to dream in order to survive, in order to cope with the insanity of the world.

Sol didn't dream much anymore, and when he did, it tended to be something like this. There should have been some kind of cathartic effect in it, or at least a certain kind of numbness setting in the more often the memories were recycled, but it never happened. Each experience was as vivid as the last one, sharp and clear as it had never been in that moment, when he'd been drugged out of his mind and more than half-mad. Apart from that, though, nothing had changed; nearly two centuries did nothing to dull that memory, leaving him to wrestle out of clammy sheets.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Sol sat up, trying to ignore the pulse of heat from the mark on his forehead.

On the opposite wall, the glowing clock face informed him that it was way too early to be awake, which meant that the best course of action would have been to turn over and go back to sleep. He lay down again, trying to keep himself from sniffing the air for that certain lab stink. It was harder than it should have been, with that irrationally paranoid part of him wanting to stay awake, alert, to move closer to the door just in case…

Gritting his teeth, he rolled out of bed and started fishing around for his boots. There was something profoundly irritating about the inside of his own head sometimes.

At this time of night, he would at least be able to have a smoke in peace.

.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** So yes, this will be the first part of something bigger. As said above, this part is the only part that will heavily feature original characters. They were a nice way of setting the mood and the circumstances, but the actual fic is very much supposed to be a Sol and Ky story. C&C is appreciated, and I hope to see you in the next chapter.

Notes for the bored:  
- Yes, Russia. Vast, and full of goodness.  
- For all the technological collapse, there _must_ be some sort of magic-based substitute for a few things. And primitive as it might be, I imagine they'd have some sort of warning system for a few important areas.  
- If there've been some Earth-shattering revelations about how the Gear Project did boom, I don't know. *shrug* I'm fond of this one.


	2. II: Some Days Are Better Than Others

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 2/?  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** Ky is reminded yet again that some days are better than others. Hey, Sol can't be the only one with a sucky morning.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part II_

_._

_._

_._

"Twenty minutes to touch-down, beginning final approach."

"All systems clear for descent."

"Base still isn't responding, sir."

In the busy atmosphere of the bridge, the radio operator had turned around, the worry on his pale face dulled only by fatigue. Ky couldn't fault him for it; the man had been at his post for hours, trying to make sense of the garbled transmissions pushing through the channels, hoping in vain to raise someone.

"I've got a clear signal now, but no one's answering."

Glancing at the instruments, Ky shook his head. "Still… keep trying. If worse comes to worst, you have permission to override the hangar codes."

"Yes, sir." The operator turned back to his console.

Ky nodded to the officer on duty. "You have the bridge, Lieutenant."

Gathering up a stack of reports, he left for the tactical operations room, preoccupied with the silent base. It would have been foolish to judge the incident without knowing the circumstances, but all the same, he would have to have a word with the person in charge. No emergency warranted neglecting communications duty, especially when information was the thing they currently needed the most.

Tactical operations was just down the hall from the bridge, barely bigger than a standard cabin, dominated by maps and a large conference table. This early in the morning, the room should have been deserted, but even from a distance, he could see the lone red-glowing point in the darkness, a biting smell wafting out into the corridor.

Frowning, he flipped the switch next to the door, the overhead lights coming on in a bright flare, which earned him a displeased noise.

"Good morning. In case you forgot, this is the war room, not a glorified smoking closet."

"And we couldn't have uncivilized behavior in a war room, now could we," Sol muttered, the sarcasm in his voice somewhat offset by his bleary stare.

For a second, Ky wondered if the man had actually been sleeping, and why on Earth he would choose this room for a nap, before he discovered the dismantled smoke detector on the wall and the fact that Sol had managed to dislodge his chair from the floor in order to have enough space to prop his legs up on the table. Holding back a sigh, he reached over, pushing Sol's feet out of the way to get to the spread-out map of southwest Russia, and pretending he couldn't see that damnable smirk.

On most days, it felt like he was dealing with a juvenile delinquent instead of a grown man.

Brushing off the surface, he could see that several new marks had been added since he had last seen it, broad slashes next to the neat little crosses that dominated the rest of the map, a bright red graveyard closing in on Greater Moscow. He didn't need to check to know that the marks all coincided with the locations of surveillance stations.

It bothered him that they should be crossed out before their demise was even confirmed, despite the fact that he knew there was no chance they could have survived the attack. An irrational sentiment, perhaps, but it still seemed wrong.

"Updated that for you," Sol said as part of the ritual challenge—his methods versus Ky's own—but his words were lacking their usual nonchalance, a strange undercurrent in his voice. At a closer look, Ky could see it reflected in his posture, the kind of barely perceptible tension that would come before a serious fight.

With anyone else, he might have been able to assume, might have asked had he thought the inquiry welcome, but Sol guarded his secrets closely and tirelessly, and all Ky could do was hope for him to share them if the situation warranted it.

_It's kind of funny, really… I've almost made an art of not asking._

"Thanks," he said, hoping that a sidelong glance would sufficiently convey his disapproval, and began folding the map.

Sol very pointedly took another drag of his cigarette, but as far as provocations went, it was a pretty poor one, and Ky didn't have the mind to spare for a lengthy argument. At another time, perhaps, but not now.

"…Any developments on the clusterfuck?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's a complete mess out there. Most of the network's broken down; what's left is getting overloaded. Half of these targets—" He waved the reports. "—are from intercepted communications. Most of them unconfirmed."

"Doesn't matter. If they were in the way, they're toast. And it's not like it takes a genius to figure out where this is gonna lead."

"Yes, there is that."

It would hardly be the first time they had made do with nothing but intuition and educated guesses. For planning multiple operations at the same time, though, they would need a bit more than divine guidance.

"I expect the evacuation will pose the biggest problem, though I don't see why we couldn't have rendezvoused with the rest of the fleet en route to Moscow. This is wasting time we don't have." He frowned, tucking the map into the stack of documents.

"Why bother thinking when the fire brigade's on the way."

"Sol."

"Oh, come on. You know that's how people tick." Sol got up, pushing his chair back against the table in the wrong position. "You can be glad if they don't hand you a list of special wishes. I wouldn't be surprised if they wanted you to retake the city."

"That's suicide," Ky said, turning and heading for the exit hatch, content in the knowledge that Sol would follow. A moment later, the man's larger stride caught up to him, the scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.

"Wouldn't be their first stupid decision."

"I'm not going to sacrifice my people for this. Moscow hasn't been defensible in a long time, and it definitely isn't defensible _now_. Kliff's been pushing for a relocation for God knows how long, but you know how well these things go over."

Sol snorted. "It's easier waiting until the problem decides to solve itself. Or in this case, gets eaten."

"Yeah, I know. It just…"

"…blows?"

"Pardon?"

"Forget it." Sol waved his hand dismissively, pretending to be oblivious to the inquisitive stare leveled at him.

Eventually, Ky relented, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The incessant non sequiturs were getting on his nerves, especially when they weren't meant to do just that. There was no good reason to withhold an explanation in normal conversations, rare as they were.

They walked on in silence, following the corridor curving along the outer hull until they arrived at an inconspicuous-looking door. As the ship continued to descend, the bright glare of the approach lights broke through the darkness, the alternating hues of green and blue transforming the dock below into an otherworldly silhouette, the hangar gates gaping like a bottomless pit.

"Well," Ky said eventually, turning away from the portholes. "Whatever the case, we'll know soon enough. Let's just hope for the best."

"That's your forte, not mine."

Any reply he might have had was swallowed by the engines reversing their thrust, a low thrum running through the ship until the entire hull was vibrating with the force of the sound. The intercom beeped, an automatic voice spelling out the landing procedure.

"Preparing docking clamps. Do not disembark until docking sequence is complete."

Sol shrugged, reached out, and simply twisted the lever for manual override. The hatch slid open in a gust of cold air, red lights flaring up around the doorframe.

"Warning," the voice informed them, a discordant alarm blaring to accompany the statement. "Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."

"You can't do anything quietly, can you?" Ky muttered, certain that Sol would hear him despite the noise.

"No risk, no fun, boy scout." And before Ky could do anything to stop him, he jumped out on the approaching runway to the sound of more sirens.

"Warning. Unauthorized operation of emergency controls. Please close hatch immediately."

Sol turned around, the wind tugging at his hair and coat, raising his voice to be heard over the howling thrusters. "You coming?"

"…No," Ky said, and leapt.

* * *

"Commander?"

Sol had expected some kind of helpful little flunky to fetch them for the briefing to the briefing, as part of the standard military daisy chain. He had not expected a whole welcoming committee, three wide-eyed soldiers in the pale yellow operator's uniform staring up at them from the bottom of the runway, aghast that the esteemed commander had just jumped ship. They had lined up from shortest to tallest, looking for all the world like lost ducklings waiting to be guided back to their mothers.

Glancing over his shoulder, he was gratified to catch that tiny glimpse of self-conscious surprise on the kid's face that suggested he hadn't really thought about what he was doing, before it all vanished under a mask of neutrality again.

Ky straightened, causing the ducklings to snap to attention so fast that the one up front lost control of the stack of papers she was holding, the wind from the engines scattering the sheets all across the hangar. The girl hesitated for a moment, before deciding that her papers floating around all over the place might be more offensive than her breaking formation, and dashed off to chase them down. The other two remained at attention until Ky quickly dismissed them so they could help their colleague in her pursuit.

Sol quirked an eyebrow. "Did they send us the comedy trio or something?"

Starting for the stairs, Ky shook his head. "I'm more wondering why they sent us a trio at all. I can't imagine the base so complicated to navigate as to require three people to figure out directions."

"Maybe they wanted your autograph," Sol suggested only half in jest, moving to catch up.

"My what? Don't be foolish."

Above them, the docking clamps latched on with a loud clang, the noise of the thrusters slowly dying away. The runway came to a stop near the open exit hatch, attaching itself to the side of the ship. The ducklings finally completed their mad chase of the documents, lining up at the bottom again. Ky was right, of course; you had to wonder what business radio operators had here in the first place, and while Sol might have been able to explain the presence of one with a general shortage of personnel, the presence of three suggested the opposite.

His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of, "Sirs!" once they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the triplets looking ready to salute again at the slightest provocation. Only one held any sort of rank, and neither of them was a day over twenty.

"Privates… Corporal… would you please explain this?"

Although Ky's tone was soft and even, he might as well have been yelling at them for the way they suddenly paled. It would never not be amusing to watch adults fidgeting nervously under the scrutiny of a fifteen-year-old, but at the moment, Sol found himself wishing they would get on with it. Something wasn't right here, and their pointless conniptions were wasting time.

"Um… erm… here, sir." The girl held out her papers. "I, um. There's some things you ought to know, sir, well…"

"Corporal?"

One of the boys chimed in. "Um, we know it's against regulations and all, sir, but there's problems and…"

"What kind of problems?"

The kid had entirely too much patience, Sol decided, tuning out their stuttering and letting his gaze sweep the hangar bay.

Apart from the fading hum of the engines, it was awfully quiet. There should have been something going on around here; anything to suggest that a military operation was underway, and yet, there was barely enough light to illuminate the way to the exit. No personnel milling around, no radio response, and now…

A reflection against the ship's body caught his attention, leaving him momentarily puzzled. By all means, there shouldn't have been anything _to_ reflect.

"You're not going to be punished for reporting a problem, Corporal, so if you would—"

The girl's reply got lost in a startled yelp as Sol shoved past her and her little entourage, ducking between the stabilizers attached to the ship's protruding bow.

"What the—! Sol! What do you think you're doing?"

"Look at this."

To his credit, Ky immediately fell silent, hurrying to his side.

"I think I just found our problem," Sol said mirthlessly, turning away from the bulky silhouettes gleaming in the faint overhead lighting to watch the situation shuffle on the kid's face, bewilderment, shock, anger all flitting across his features, before settling into something shuttered and hard.

"I have no idea what is going on here," Ky murmured, staring out at the rows of perfectly silent colossi. "But I _will_ find out."

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** You can totally tell which parts I had the most fun with. XD C&C is appreciated.

- I imagine GG airships work like every other pseudo-steampunk airship in existence. As far as I'm concerned, a wizard did it.  
- And this would be my unreasonable fondness for Dr. Strangelove, showing up again.


	3. III: Casualties of War

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Chapter:** 3  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Notes:** In which Ky tries to fix things, and Sol gets to menace.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part III_

_._

_._

"It's all a royal mess, sir," the young corporal was saying, somewhat more confident in herself now that she was sure she wouldn't be facing a firing squad.

They were following her through a maze of nearly identical corridors, all bathed in the faintly blue lights reserved for the night shift, the monotony only broken by the occasional turn. Ky was beginning to think his earlier remark about the base layout had been correct.

"We barely know what's going on, ourselves—all we know is that Moscow started requesting immediate assistance at around 21:00 yesterday, but… we haven't moved since then, sir." She bit her lip. "I… really don't mean to talk badly about anyone, sir, but… we've gotten three separate calls and the commander's dismissed all of them. He said we should stand by for orders, but…"

"But now it's four in the morning."

"Yes, sir. And Moscow's… we don't know. We've been barred from the radio center. Everything's going crazy."

Ky frowned, trying to make sense of the story.

The discovery of the entire fleet at base still felt like a bad dream, despite the fact that he had come to calculate for all kinds of things. Panic, disorganization, distrust and even plain stupidity were almost a daily routine in the field, and the higher ranks of the Order were not exempt from them by far.

Kliff had taught him that a long time ago, lessons in command interspersed with lessons of the sword. "Never expect anyone to do the good thing. Or the sane thing. Or the right thing. Just expect everyone to fight you every step of the way."

They had both known he was exaggerating, but not by much—the higher one got on the chain of command, the more muddled the priorities became, until one ended up at one of the board meetings and realized just why certain requests were never being met, just what certain people were wasting precious time with.

"Do you have any idea what could have prompted this decision from Colonel Gorsky?"

"No, sir. Lieutenant Andreyev tried to reason with him, but…"

"But what, Corporal?"

"He's been detained for insubordination, sir, because he tried to start the evacuation on his own. Anyone who supported his attempt openly has also been detained. If anything happens—"

"Sounds like someone went cheerfully nuts," Sol said, frowning so deeply his eyes were almost disappearing beneath his headband.

It wouldn't have been the first time, either. There were enough stories of soldiers snapping under the pressure, and Ky had seen it happen, had been there to watch a commanding officer simply run out onto the battlefield screaming about judgment day, never to be seen again.

"W-we haven't noticed anything, sir," the Corporal squeaked. "Colonel Gorsky is a very intense man, but he's been a good leader, and—"

"Well, either he's gone nuts or he's had a lobotomy. There's only so many ways to get this stupid."

"That's enough," Ky said sharply. "These unprofessional assessments aren't helping anyone."

Sol mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Well, they're helping _me_," but he decided to let it slide. There were other matters requiring his attention right now.

He stopped, frowning. Belatedly, the soldiers noticed he wasn't following anymore, and turned to look at him questioningly. "Alright. We don't have any more time to waste. Corporal, you're coming with me. I'll get to the bottom of this. Privates?" Two salutes answered him. "You will accompany Sir Badguy to the holding cells."

"Sir!"

"Just so we're clear," he said, giving Sol a piercing look. "I don't want any broken bones or fires in the basement."

A smirk. "Can't promise anything if they go out of their way to make my job difficult."

"If I catch wind of anything untoward, I _will_ hold you responsible."

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Sol could be sufficiently menacing to a simple guard through his sheer presence. Reaching underneath his coat, Ky tugged the chain of dog-tags free, counting them out and removing one with a green rim. "This should be sufficient to release them. Pass code is 3 April 2172."

His eyebrows rising, Sol accepted the key tag. "Never took you for a romantic."

"It's fitting, considering how many times you should've been arrested since we met."

"And I'm sure you've kept track of every single one for me."

"Of course. Corporal, if you would…"

With that, he turned away, following the girl's lead down the corridor, and pretending he couldn't hear the other man's amused snort.

* * *

"Colonel Gorsky, sir?"

The desk seemed almost too small for the tall, broad-shouldered man hunched over its surface, absorbed in his paperwork. He didn't even look up at his visitors, his pen moving swiftly across the forms as if he hadn't heard at all. The corporal was barely resisting the urge to fidget, clearly wishing to be anywhere but here.

"Sir…?"

The pen stopped moving. "I thought I made it clear that I didn't wish to be disturbed."

The girl straightened. "There's someone here to see you, sir."

Finally, the colonel lifted his head, revealing a wizened face, piercing dark eyes sizing up his guest and the soldier to blame for bringing him here, before turning away again. The pen resumed its movements.

"I'm not sure what makes a new arrival think himself important enough to come see me personally, but I would have thought you'd know better than to encourage such an idea, Corporal."

The girl's eyes grew round. "Sir, that's—"

"Thank you, Corporal," Ky said. "I will take over from here. Please deliver a message to Sir Badguy for me—tell him to make the necessary preparations and then to meet me here. He'll know what I mean."

The pen dropped with an audible thump. "Hold it right there. Just who do you think you are?"

The girl froze like a rabbit, looking back and forth between them.

"Just go, Corporal," Ky murmured gently. "I'll sort out this matter. You're not to blame."

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, so she just nodded and hastily backed out of the room, the door falling shut to the noise of her footsteps fading into a run. Slowly, Ky turned back to face the colonel, whose expression was wavering between anger and incredulity.

"Colonel Gorsky, I've come here expecting to join arms in a fight that concerns all of us, and find myself being treated with utmost negligence. Since you seem to be having trouble discerning my position, I will introduce myself—I'm Commander Kiske, sent here on direct orders from Headquarters to coordinate and supervise any operations concerning the current situation."

Dark eyes widened for a second, before the colonel glared again. "So _you're_ Undersn's wunderkind?"

He rose, coming around from behind the desk to regard Ky again, planting himself in front of him as if dealing with a nosy cadet.

The Order's policy of handing out rank according to ability rather than age was a nice idea on paper, but it had very little effect in practice—many people, even experienced soldiers, had their own notions of what constituted a leader. Even if Kliff hadn't spent so much time preparing him for his position, hadn't made sure to impart to him exactly what people would think of his age or his height or his skill, the pointless alpha male behavior had stopped meaning anything a long time ago. Now it was just another inconvenience.

Eventually, the colonel huffed, taking a step back. "I guess the right hand really doesn't know what the left hand is doing… I'm afraid your presence here is completely unnecessary. I've already taken measures to deal with the problem."

"You will have to forgive me, Colonel, if I find that hard to believe," Ky replied, smothering the anger that wanted to boil up at the casual dismissal. "I see a base of combat-ready soldiers and a hangar full of state-of-the-art ships, and I see a city in peril. The defense forces are asking for help, yet you ignore their pleas. I was willing to assume any number of reasons for this, but clearly you are fully aware of the situation. What is the meaning of this?"

"I assure you I have the Order's best interests in mind." Colonel Gorsky drew back, walking over to an area map pinned to the wall and picking up a marker, pointing out positions as if talking to a schoolboy. "We were expecting an unprecedented assault to our borders, yet ninety percent of combat activity is concentrating on the area directly in and around Moscow. I don't have to spell out what this could mean for us, do I."

It felt like a cold hand had reached into his chest, slowly squeezing the warmth out of his insides. "A sacrifice."

The man's eyes flashed. "Precisely. A sacrifice. Moscow is already lost—we both know it's nothing more than a sentimental reminder of the past. It's an abandoned ruin—a liability without value."

"The lives of thousands of people are without value to you?"

"My dear Commander, surely you are familiar with Moscow's demography. These people _have_ no value—no money, no land, they aren't even fighters. Those that had any value have long since left. Why should we risk our resources and exhaust our limited capabilities for people who have nothing to contribute to our cause? At least this way, they will be able to do everyone else a service."

The icy claws dug deeper. "Have you forgotten the oath you swore, Colonel? The oath that comes with the uniform you wear? To protect life at all costs!"

"Spare me the sentimentalities, Commander. Do you think I'm happy to be writing off those lives? Do you think this decision was easy for me? Well, I'm not, and it wasn't. But compassion isn't what drives this army; it's money, and it's strength. I can't believe Undersn would neglect to teach his star pupil that it's impossible to win a war without sacrifices."

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, a trace of pity entering his harsh gaze, "Try to survive as long as I did, and you'll see that pointless idealism won't win you this war."

Ky stared. "…You're afraid."

"What?"

"You are afraid. You're willing to sacrifice innocent people because you fear you won't live to see the end of it. If you think I will condone this, you're sorely mistaken."

The softness vanished from the colonel's face as quickly as it had appeared, his creases deepening like trenches. "Don't tell me Undersn's spending all his time filling the next generation with hot air. At this rate, we'll _all_ be seeing the end of it, at the point of a Gear's jaws! And for once, the brass are well aware of it."

He crossed the room to his desk, swiping a sheet of paper from a stack and thrusting it out to Ky. "This wasn't my decision alone. My proposal is backed by the Order Subcommittee—something neither you nor Undersn can influence."

The Subcommittee was a mishmash board of politicians and influential investors mainly in charge of approving requests for specialized equipment and distributing funds for weapons research, notorious for protecting their own interests first and thinking of others later. Most of the members had no battle experience, and were, for the most part, completely out of touch with the reality of the frontlines, their continuous refusal to think practical giving rise to the bitter joke amongst soldiers, "If you want something done, don't let the Subcommittee know."

As he skimmed the letter, Ky could no longer keep control of his expression, his eyes widening at the decision spelt out in tiny, tight print, clean and utterly merciless.

Gear gas.

The name meant something to every soldier; a highly dangerous chemical that killed in a breath by corroding the respiratory system. It had been developed in the early days of the Order, when creating effective weapons had been the top priority. Unfortunately, what was deadly to a Gear was ten times as deadly to a human—the gas eating through whatever protective masks the soldiers had been wearing, and killing every last one. Uncontrollable and unpredictable, it was a last resort, a kind of scorched earth tactic, and everyone in the military was hoping to never be desperate enough to use it.

"As you can see," Colonel Gorsky was saying, "the decision was a majority vote. They're going to send a sufficient quantity for a large-scale bombardment of Moscow. The Gears will be busy until it arrives… they always are, as long as there's something to keep them occupied. This strike will take out almost ninety percent of the attacking force. We can easily deal with the rest."

"So first you leave these people to be crushed by the Gears… and then you will finish the job when they have served their purpose. My God. You've become more monstrous than the monsters."

"This will save our strength for future battles, when we won't be so lucky. Think about it, Commander. _Ninety percent._"

"I won't let you do this, Colonel. None of you." Ky turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going? This is an official order!"

Casting a glance back over his shoulder at the colonel's distorted face, Ky couldn't help the feeling that he wasn't looking at a man at all anymore, just an accumulation of wrath and fear, an infectious disease left to run free to spread to others. "My orders concern themselves with the extermination of the enemy forces, not with the murder of innocents. If you have any concerns, I'm sure the Subcommittee will be happy to listen."

"You—"

"Good day, Colonel."

The door fell shut behind him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** I really liked writing the exchange between Ky and the Russian commander. I wanted him to have his reasons for making that brutal decision, so I hope it was, in some twisted and horrible way, understandable. C&C is appreciated.

Notes for the bored:

- Do not ask me about the distribution of ranks. After researching the individual countries' differences, I just decided to make something up. Less confusing. Ky's 'commander' status would actually be an abbreviation for something like 'supreme commander candidate' or whatever, since that whole archangel thingamajig... just sounds incredibly strange and overblown.  
- Yes, that passkey date is the day they first met. XD  
- I'm pretty sure there is this split (as there always is) between the Order as a military system and the Order as a political/economic body. And there would be a lot of conflicts of interest.  
- Likewise, I'm pretty sure weapons development came up with some pretty horrific ideas over the course of 100+ years, but most of these ideas would kill everything in reach.


	4. IV: Insurrection

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 4/?  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** In which plans are put into action, and Sol is surprised.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part IV_

_._

_._

"Pleasant meeting?"

The question was, of course, a purely rhetorical one.

Coming out of the office, the kid's expression was deadly calm, the kind of calm that would have made a lesser man duck and run for cover, and Sol could hear several steps faltering, the soldiers in tow understandably hesitant to approach. At least they had good instincts.

Most of the time, the kid was scarily imperturbable, accepting shit for what it was and working around it without getting a hair out of place. Even the rages Sol managed to provoke him into weren't able to compare to when he was truly angry.

Quickening his step, he caught up with Ky, noting the fine thrill that was raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Very pleasant," Ky said, his voice cold enough to make a freezer seem like a warm place, and held a piece of paper out to him.

Sol glanced it over, the politically correct phrasing leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "We could go rip out the bastard's spine and declare him a casualty of war, how about that? I don't think that'd be a morally reprehensible act under the circumstances."

"How much time would it take to get that much shipped out?" Ky was thinking again, no room even for something as simple as the pleasant vision of the bastard strung up by his own balls, when he could use those two seconds saving lives.

"…Depends on where it's stored and how much is left. I've got no idea how much they ended up producing, but they'll most likely have to scrounge it up wherever, if they don't make some more outright. Two days, tops. That stuff is too damn easy to manufacture. A couple of hours to get it shipped here. You're not going to appeal this piece of bullshit, are you."

"No. I'm going for a walk."

"Heh. Want some company on that 'walk'?"

A disheveled blond man with a bruise on his temple fell into step beside them, saluting quickly. "Lieutenant Andreyev, sir. It's a lovely season to see a lovely city. Would be a shame if you never got to see the sun rising behind the Savior Cathedral, sir."

Before Ky could reply, the rest of the group caught up with them, a woman in operator's uniform chiming in. "Indeed, sir. It would be a shame not to see it."

One of the duckling trio bravely piped up, as well. "We could give you a full tour, sir."

Sol smirked. "That's mutiny, soldier."

The boy shook his head wildly. "It's not mutiny if the Commander agrees, sir."

Nods from the entire group, as if they had been hoping for exactly that and were ready to follow Ky into hell, orders be damned. This declaration meant something, something that had very little to do with propaganda or whatever else Sol's inner cynic could come up with. It took a lot more than that to have men willing to commit insubordination in your _favor_, knowing full well that they might not make it out alive.

With anyone else, Sol would have known that it was what they had been waiting for, would have suspected that this was what they had been trying to accomplish all along. He would have suspected the kid, too, if he hadn't known what to look for—that two-second delay, as the look on his face transformed from the expression of a man shouldering the fate of all into a simple, grateful smile.

Taking one last look at the sheet, Ky wadded it into a neat little ball and handed it to Sol. "…We never saw these orders."

Sol smirked, his fist closing around the crumpled paper, allowing the glow to eat away at it until there was nothing left but ash. "What orders?"

* * *

"Balanced teams. No assault squads, no magic squads. Restructure existing units if necessary. I want all-round teams that can deal with a beating. Our top priority is to get the civilians to safety."

"Yes, sir."

Both had to raise their voices over the noise, the hangar plunged into a flurry of activity—ground personnel milling about, weapons being loaded, soldiers filing into the airships by the dozen.

The kid was back to being calm, pure efficiency, giving orders and directing troops as if nothing had happened at all; if anything, he only seemed even more determined to make up for everything that had gone wrong.

The Russian lieutenant had straightened his attire a little, his brows knitting as he bent over the map spread out on one of the crates in the airship's cargo bay. Sol was content to remain in the background, studying the proceedings from over Ky's shoulder.

"I want us to aim for the places most likely to harbor survivors. Any kind of structure able to withstand a prolonged assault. Anything that might serve as a hiding place."

"The old town, then. Its streets are very narrow. It's hard to get around," Andreyev suggested, circling the locations with a marker. The map wasn't the newest one around, given Moscow's status, but after a Gear assault, they would be lucky to find even a handful of streets that were still the same. "Former municipal buildings. Train stations. Bunkers. I hear some of those were built to withstand even old-world technology."

Most likely missiles, Sol guessed, perhaps a small-scale bomb. It had been the right climate back in the day to build stuff for that eventuality, but then, science had dropped an even bigger bomb.

"And get the freighters ready for lift-off, as well." Ky had turned to address a soldier come to deliver a status report. "We'll need every ship we can get."

"Sir?" The man hesitated.

"I'm aware of the risks, but we don't have any time to waste."

"Understood."

After the officer had left, Ky returned to his perusal of the map, trying to determine the best way to proceed without any actual data.

"I believe the term you were looking for is 'sitting ducks'," Sol pointed out helpfully.

"I think he knew what I meant," Ky said, fingers hovering above the paper, tracing routes and landmarks in ways that only made sense to him. They both knew that the large cannons would be as good as useless out there, dead weights that consumed so much energy that more than two shots in a row would blow the reactors apart. Sometimes, it made him want to visit the think tanks and bust a few heads.

Andreyev glanced between them, before marking a trajectory. "Best route of approach would be from here, sir. This would take us into an area with lots of open spaces… plazas, parks, and the like."

"I want the fleet to spread out over the area," Ky said, circling the districts the lieutenant had been pointing out with his finger.

Andreyev blinked. "But that'd make us vulnerable—"

"We'll be about as invisible as a flying smorgasbord, anyway," Sol interjected, which earned him a dark look.

"I understand your apprehension, Lieutenant. But he's right—this way, we actually stand better chances of splitting the trouble. We'll determine precise landing points once we have more data on Gear activity."

"Commander, sir!" Another soldier was jogging towards them. "We have word from Aleksin base. They'll be sending support our way, five-hundred men plus ten ships."

"What, no pickles?"

The man blinked owlishly, as did the lieutenant. Neither of them could see the warning nudge of the kid's heel against his toes.

"Thank you, Major. Tell them we'll send the landing coordinates on the way." He rolled up the map, handing it to Andreyev. "You have command of the _Epifaniy_, Lieutenant. Relay our course to the rest of the fleet."

With a salute, Andreyev withdrew, heading towards the bridge to carry out his orders.

Sol straightened, stretching slightly and noticing that the kid was still staring off in the direction the lieutenant had gone, lost in thought.

"Well, that's gonna be a fun trip. You can stop running those tallies, by the way."

"Huh?"

"I know what you're doing in there, and it's ridiculous."

Raising an eyebrow, Ky turned to face him. "Caring about my men is ridiculous?"

"The way you're doing it, yes."

"I'm still responsible for—"

"Bull. They chose this." Sol would've been convinced the kid was faking the concern, if he hadn't witnessed the same spiel dozens of times before.

"…Thanks." His voice was quiet, carrying that strange hint of something that suggested he was taking this to heart and reading stupid things into it.

Sol shrugged. "It's just aggravating to watch."

"Of course." He was almost sure Ky was being sarcastic now, as hard as it was to tell from the deadpan tone.

Against the wall, the intercom beeped, relieving him of a comeback. "Sir, we're ready for take-off."

"Understood. Proceed."

Slowly, the ramp began to close, the now empty hangar disappearing from sight. A distant hum was spreading through the air, gradually swelling until it became a howl, the entire ship vibrating with the force of the thrust. There was that momentary feeling of the earth dropping away beneath his feet, a passing thrill from age-old attunement to living on the ground.

Ky turned to go. "Alright, then. Let's—"

The ship lurched violently, sending both of them staggering. Another lurch, and he caught the kid by the arm before he could fall over, steadying him.

"What on Earth—?"

They looked up as a groan went through the hull, metal straining against metal. The ship sunk slightly before pushing up again, swaying back and forth in an effort to shake something loose. With some difficulty, Ky leaned over, flipping the switch on the intercom. "Kiske to bridge. What's going on?"

"We don't know, sir. The docking clamps aren't responding… our codes are being overridden! We can't—"

Andreyev's voice broke off, replaced by Gorsky's cool tone. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to endanger the upcoming mission. These ships are needed here, and the Committee wants me to ensure they stay here. This is as far as your little insurrection goes, Commander."

The line went dead, leaving Ky to hiss something under his breath that sounded vaguely French, and vaguely profane.

"Sir?"

"Tell them to keep the ships aloft, and open the cargo bay. I'll take care of the clamps."

"What the hell's the asshole talking about?" Sol demanded, following him down the descending ramp, the gust tugging at their hair and clothes.

Dropping down from the edge, he could see that the entire fleet was in the same predicament, the ships hovering unsteadily, held fast by the massive metal contraptions.

"They've given him top-level access privileges," Ky shouted over the roar of the engines, his face grim. "These codes are a security measure—he can negate lower-level command inputs with those. Only the highest-ranking officers can order a lockdown like this. I don't even know where the Subcommittee got them from—this isn't in their jurisdiction."

"You have one of those things in your arsenal, right?"

"Yes, but if they've given him more than one, the system will think it's two against one, and negate my key."

"Oh, joy. So, do we get to hunt him down and beat the access rights out of him?"

"No time."

"Then—?"

Without another word, Ky extended one hand, a perfect arc of lightning streaking through the air. Three clamps released their hold simultaneously, dropping away into default position in a shower of sparks and smoke.

Sol blinked.

Ky ducked beneath the ship, repeating the procedure on the other side to the smell of melting plastic and metal filling the air. "…Aren't you going to help?"

There was probably a pretty stupid expression on his face, but it wasn't every day that he got to watch the kid toast army property without even the slightest hint of remorse. He was already making his way to the second ship, forcing Sol to catch up with him.

"Hey, wait a sec. Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud."

"I'm not a stick in the mud, I'm practical—and I consider this operation being delayed any longer highly _im_practical. So you have my official permission to get rid of the delay, if that helps."

Another spell jolted through the fixtures, and Ky turned to look at him, fierce and utterly unrepentant. For a second, something flashed in his eyes that made Sol wonder whether he wasn't enjoying this just the tiniest bit. The thought was inexplicably gratifying.

He grinned, "I hope you're billing the Subcommittee for this," and vanished around another ship before Ky could reply.

Together, they made short work of the clamps. It was so ridiculously easy that Sol had to wonder why they'd bothered with installing a complex security system in the first place, so confident in their assumption that everyone would be good and play by the rules. There wasn't even the slightest anti-magic field to shield the devices from brute force, the spells frying the electronics unhindered.

"See? The therapeutic value of a little destruction," he called as they climbed back into the ship, the closing of the ramp leaving them in relative silence.

Ky chose to ignore him, heading for the bridge at a brisk pace. It was almost amusing to see everyone snapping bolt upright in their seats upon his entrance, all gazes following him with a mixture of awe and shock—judging from the near-perfect view out the panoramic window front, the bridge had probably gotten a good eyeful of their little fireworks.

If Ky was aware of it, he didn't show it, not a hint of bragging in his voice as he addressed Andreyev. "There shouldn't be any more problems. Ready for take-off?"

"At once, sir."

The navigators began pressing keys on their console, but were rewarded with a displeased electronic sound. Frowning, they tried again, the sweat beginning to collect on their foreheads as trial after trial yielded the same result. "Sorry, sir. The gates aren't opening."

"The guy's really desperate to have us stay for breakfast, isn't he," Sol groused. "This is getting tedious."

In lieu of a reply, Ky stepped forward to peer searchingly out the window front, before glancing back at him. "How much would a forced exit damage the structural integrity of the ships?"

It was getting hard to keep control of his eyebrows. The kid was usually such a stickler for rules and regulations to the point where he could quote them word for word, but now it was as if someone had taken his morality module offline, leaving him to take out any obstacle without remorse.

"You're not serious."

"Am I ever not serious? How much."

"Point," Sol conceded. "And… minimally. They all come with a triple hull and enforced windshields. The destroyers have additional plating. We should be fine."

"Alright." Ky turned to the radio operator. "Relay this order to all ships. Raise upper forward cannons at a sixty degree angle, fifty percent charge."

"…Yes, sir."

At a few adjustments, the turrets on the forward deck began to emerge from their resting position, restraints releasing the heavy muzzles as they rotated, rising into an upward position. One by one, the lights at the tactical console switched to green. The weapons officer turned to look at him.

"At your word, sir."

"Fire."

Fifty percent power could barely even put a scratch on a Gear—properly injuring, if not killing the beasts took everything the weapons had and then some. The gate stood no chance, however. An array of white-hot blasts ruptured the shutters, sending shards of metal and debris raining down.

Amidst the thinning vapor, the silhouettes of fifteen ships rose slowly and circled once above the hangar, before heading off towards the east, where the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear in the sky.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** And we're getting somewhere, little by little. At least things really did boom this time. C&C is appreciated.

Notes for the bored:  
- I think my fondness for asskicking Ky is showing. Do I care? Not particularly. XD A lot of people forget that he'll only follow the rules as long as he sees nothing amiss with them.  
- Savior Cathedral is actually the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, an beautiful Orthodox church situated in, where else, Moscow.  
- The Order being what it is, I picked an Orthodox monk to name the airship, Epiphanius (Epifaniy) the Wise.


	5. V: Approach Lights

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 5/?  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** In which things do boom, a lot.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part V_

_._

_._

In the earliest days of the war, even before the foundation of the Order, military strategists had drawn the frontline beyond Moscow. The city had been seen as part of the first and strongest line of defense against a Gear invasion from the Asian continent, a proud symbol of human defiance.

Those plans, however, had been long since abandoned. Now, very little was left of the capital's former glory—those that could afford to leave had done so a long time ago, a quiet mass exodus reducing a city of ten million to a ghost town. Vast districts and monuments were slowly crumbling into nothing, civilization forgotten in the face of so much destruction.

The ones who remained were the poor and the desperate, those that had already lost home after home and had run out of places to flee to.

"Squadrons Three and Five have confirmed drop-zones. Two and Four… confirmed."

"Airspace has low enemy concentration. Visual confirmation in roughly ten minutes."

Ky turned his gaze to the window front, briefly scanning the expanse of roiling white and gray below. The late autumn storms had swept in a front of low-hanging clouds, blanketing the city from sight. It meant limited accuracy, but that was a rather small price to pay for being able to launch a surprise attack.

"I'm afraid I can't get clear readings of the ground, sir." The radar officer bit his lip, wiping sweaty hands on his thighs. "It's picking up some clusters here and there, but…"

The earpiece gave off a burst of static, and then he could hear Sol's voice, faint and tinny over the tiny speaker. "If we just assume that everything's a Gear, we should be good to go."

"There's nothing we can do about it," Ky replied, not bothering to acknowledge the comment. "Lieutenant? Take us in."

"Understood, sir."

The hull began to vibrate as the ship tilted to dive into the clouds, layers of pale mist rushing past the bow and parting to reveal their battlefield, the reddish glow of fires the only spots of color in the ruined labyrinth. Much closer, though, he could see the myriads of darker specks swaying in the sky; swarms of winged beasts of different shapes and sizes clustering together like especially large and deadly mosquitoes.

Strong as they were, though, they would be the least of problems when the actual insects decided to show up—the sleek, elongated bodies of the dragonflies were a sight every pilot dreaded to see, as they were entirely too happy to hunt down airships, their powerful mandibles enough to crack open even the enforced hulls like oysters to feast on the unlucky crew within.

For the moment, though, he couldn't make out any of these giants, and sent a quick prayer that it would stay that way. They would have their hands full just dealing with the smaller ones. As he watched, some of the swarms swerved sharply, hovering indecisively for a moment, before taking off in the direction of the descending ships.

"Visual contact confirmed! They've spotted us!"

"Maintain course and speed. Commence subcannon spread fire when in range." Ky turned, heading for the exit at a brisk pace. "I'll be down with the units."

For a second, a flicker of uncertainty flashed in Andreyev's eyes, but he said nothing. "Yes, sir."

As Ky entered the corridor, the ship shook with the first volley cutting through the air, enveloping the creatures in bursts of magical energy. He knew that it would hardly deter them, knew that none of them seemed to care, that a passing glance out the rows of portholes would show them swiveling and drawing back out of range to regroup, even as the charred remains of their comrades were falling out of the sky.

"Direct hit on the enemy!" The radio crackled in protest, the voice almost lost in its own volume. "They just keep coming!"

"Keep firing."

The first wave had merely been an assessment. The little fliers could be a lot more persistent and maneuverable than they liked to appear, which posed a serious problem in close-range combat. It was the entire reason the Order wasn't heavily relying on airships, other than as a means of transportation. The machines were simply too slow, too unsophisticated, to keep up with a relentless assault.

Ky knew as much, had seen the pattern repeated often enough to know that Justice was willing to sacrifice her troops simply to test out an opponent, and then show them that no matter which weapons they developed, they would be unable to match a Gear's speed and power.

Another volley streaked across the sky, the Gears darting between the blasts like quicksilver fish.

"Accuracy down to 75%. Damn, these things are fast! We'll never be able to take down all of them, sir. They'll tear the ship apart!"

"Concentrate on hitting what you can," Ky said firmly, his footsteps quickening into a jog. "When the targets pass critical range, release the airlocks."

"Understood."

Up ahead, the first group of soldiers was waiting, one of many teams positioned throughout the ship. Most of them were wearing the pale blue tags identifying them as magic units, some were armed with ray guns, standing in front of one of the airlocks leading to the outer deck. It was the most dangerous place to be at the moment, out of all the dangerous places—the reason he was here, the reason he had put Sol here, though he had an inkling Sol would have found his way here even if he had told him otherwise.

The man was leaning back against the wall, his head bowed and his face half-hidden beneath the headband, but Ky knew the expression to be found on it anyway, a look of painfully intense concentration he never would have thought him capable of, way back when. Ky had seen similar looks on the faces of operators, trying to listen through all the interference and static for the faintest of signals. Whatever Sol was listening to, though, it was something only he could hear.

The rest of the unit were helping one another into safety harnesses, fragile-looking nylon ropes coiling at the front, ready to be attached to anything that would be able to support the pull of human weight. When they caught sight of him, they all snapped to attention, several anxious gazes searching his face for signs of good news.

"Things gonna get breezy now, sir?" the unit leader finally asked, a cordial grin on his face, but his hands were busily checking his harness again.

As if on cue, the ship shook again, several dull impacts hinting that some had made it past the cannon fire. The hull groaned ominously.

Sol barely moved, seemingly unbothered, but the soldiers winced, trying not to sneak furtive glances at the structure to look for the moment when claws as thick as shovels would burst through the walls. Given enough time, they could even drill their way through solid concrete, chipping away at it like lumberjacks would at the trunk of a tree, and it didn't matter to any of them if their limbs shattered under the strain, others would be ready to dispose of their useless comrades and take over as soon as it happened.

"I'm afraid so," Ky replied, all too aware of how happy they were to be able to turn their attention to him instead of the fact that they were being opened like a can of sardines. "I'll be joining you here for the time being."

"Glad to have you, sir. Persakis, give the Commander one of those." He waved at his own harness.

The dark-haired man he had spoken to shook his head. "Those are all we got. I'll just go and see if—"

The ship veered sharply in an effort to shake off its unwelcome passengers, sending a couple of soldiers stumbling into the wall.

Persakis took a breath, steadying himself. "…never mind. You can just take mine, sir, I don't need—"

"I'll be fine."

"But—"

"That's an order," Ky said, not unkindly.

The soldier pressed his lips together, frowning unhappily.

"If it will ease your mind, I have just as little intention of dying out there as the next person."

The man flinched, his face reddening. "No! I mean, no sir! I wasn't trying to insinuate—it's just, it's not right. I mean, we are… and you are…" He waved his hand helplessly.

"Your concerns have been noted," Ky murmured, his lips curling slightly. "But, soldier? You don't have to worry about me."

"Understood, sir. I'll try to stop, sir."

A derisive snort from Sol and a few nervous giggles from the back, their comrade's antics a welcome distraction, before they were cut off by another loud impact.

The radio crackled. "They're closing in! We lost turrets eleven and five—releasing airlocks now!"

There was a dull clang as the seal pulled back, the door rattling open to reveal the outer deck… or as much as could be seen through a veil of thick, biting smoke, driving tears to their eyes.

"Alright, stay sharp—"

"Ahead."

The quiet growl against his back drowned out the unit leader's words, drowned out all other sound, telling him all he needed to know—big, ugly, and a tank.

Ky dived past him.

It was gut feeling that sent him charging into the black cloud of smoke, telling him the distance. He leapt, thought he saw the silhouette—bony, hard-plated limbs righting themselves—felt the rush of a swipe missing his side by mere inches. Then, the Furaiken pierced the armored body, lightning tearing through the vulnerable insides.

Even as the Gear collapsed on the deck, he threw himself on the floor, rolling hard.

Claws splintered the wood where his head had been a split-second ago, another set of deadly sharpness striking to his right. Before he had a chance to regain his footing, a sphere of heat seared the air above him, exploding against the vulnerable underbelly of the second creature. It went skittering across the deck, flames eating away at its skin.

"We're trying to _keep_ the ship from catching fire!" Ky shouted, springing to his feet and sending a spear of blue-white electricity hurtling towards the upper decks where several lizards had attached themselves to the ship, ripping away at the plating.

The target didn't even have time to look up, the jolt stopping its heart and turning its muscles into jelly, so that it simply slid away, bonelessly, tumbling into the city below.

The others looked up from their task, pausing for a split second in almost comical surprise, their heads tilted in the peculiar manner of confused birds. It was more than enough time to release the next spell before the first one thought to attack—and was slammed back into the side of the ship, its skin melting under the force of the current.

"Just say 'thank you' like a good little boy scout," Sol retorted, a flame tongue taking out another one as it pounced.

More Gears dropped from the sky as the soldiers rushed out on deck to join the fray, startled yells rising as they were immediately forced to lunge for cover.

The creatures dived like projectiles, wings folded tightly against their bodies, seeking to skewer their prey with merciless beaks. Ky narrowly dodged two in quick succession, their trajectory sending them barreling straight into the deck.

He twisted, hurling a blast of electricity after them before they could even think to move, collapsing with their heads still half-buried in the splintered wood.

A red blur shot past him, the massive sword splitting the skull of another lizard. Sol pivoted, a kick unleashing a fiery wave that caught a number of smaller ones in mid-leap, sending them careening over the rail. He pulled his sword free, flicking off the blood and tissue almost carelessly, when any other man would have been loath to let go of his weapon for even a second.

Most had their hands full just avoiding the deadly reach of fangs and claws, their spells flying so rapidly they were barely more than formless blurs of energy. Every now and again, a ray gun blast cut a swath through the air, the snipers weaving in and out between the turrets providing them with minimal cover.

The only thing to do was to stay in motion, not to stand still. Feel and sound were more of an ally than sight, Ky's rapid steps and turns carrying him back and forth across the deck. The Furaiken sang in his hand, the blade cleaving through the smaller Gears before they could gain a foothold.

A dark shape flashed in the corner of his eye, slamming into a soldier only a few paces away. He couldn't even think to scream as claws tore through his vital organs, but someone else did, a high-pitched scream of rage.

Ky whirled, catching sight of a young man who had come to a standstill in the middle of the deck, eyes wide and fixed on the grotesque sight of his comrade pinned to the ship's wall like a butterfly.

"Move, soldier!" he yelled, busy dodging another armored beast that had thrown itself into his path. Its venomous saliva splattered only the empty deck, Ky sliding between its massive forelimbs, delivering a clean slash across the belly.

The soldier didn't hear as the air around him froze solid, icicles hurtling towards the Gear that had gotten his comrade. He never saw the shadow flash behind him, swooping down for the kill.

"_Move_!"

The shadow swerved, avoiding the bolt spell, talons missing their intended target. They ripped into the soldier's shoulders, momentum jerking him along like a rag doll, and Ky just reacted.

The second spell hit the Gear square in the back, and he followed after it, the blade severing its head in one clean swipe.

The body flopped about mindlessly for a few seconds, wings scraping across the floor. Regardless, Ky dropped to his knees to check on the injured soldier, now half buried beneath the heaving torso. By some miracle, the electric current hadn't reached his heart—he was still struggling feebly, his breath coming in wheezing gasps.

"It's alright," Ky soothed, and began pushing off the heavy body. "We'll get you out of here."

"Ahh…!"

The man twitched, his eyes growing wide, and Ky jerked around, the spell flying from his fingertips even as he did so, sending another lizard careening into a cannon turret.

"Sah… saah…" The man's tongue was moving thickly, still numb from the jolt, trying to form words. His eyes were misting over with pain, blood seeping out from underneath his back.

The earpiece gave off a burst of static, the voice hardly audible over the sound of the cannons going off. "…big …collision cour… retrea…!"

"Bridge?" He rapped the device sharply, using one foot as leverage to pull another claw from the man's torso. "Status report!"

"…ir… ere's… large-class, sir. It's heading straight for us! Preparing evasive maneuver. Please withdraw immediately!"

"Understood, relay the order to all units."

"At once, sir."

A quick glance confirmed that the squadron leader was already giving orders to retreat, waving his arms and motioning the soldiers to fall back towards the entrance.

The radio crackled, Andreyev's tense voice ringing from within. "Main cannon's at 65%, we might—"

"No, not at that distance. We won't get a clear shot that way. Let it get close and go into a tail spin. Prepare to blast the engine coolant," Ky snapped, the bridge falling silent.

The things had long since learned their attack patterns, knew exactly how to evade and how long the machines took to recharge.

"But the friction—sir, we'd risk an explosion," Andreyev objected.

"That's the plan, Lieutenant. Incinerate it."

The earpiece gave a small screech as another voice tuned in, deeper and clearer than the lieutenant's. "Won't work."

"Sir?"

Ky frowned, continuing to shove at the monster's body. "It worked well enough the last time."

"And she was mighty pissed about it," Sol retorted.

"You mean—"

"Yeah. She remembered that part."

There was no question as to how he knew. "…What do you propose?"

"If it wants to dock… let it dock."

"But, sir!" came the protest from the bridge, a justified one, and if Ky hadn't known Sol for as long as he had, he might have dismissed the man for being thoroughly insane. Right now, though, he needed to trust his judgment, if he didn't want the ship torn to pieces.

"Alright. Belay the last order. Sir Badguy will be giving the commands for now."

A small noise from Sol that might have been surprise, might have been dismissal. "Set a collision course. Thirty degrees downward, main cannon to maximum output. You want that thing sitting on top of it. Don't screw up, 'cause there won't be a second chance."

A deep breath. "Aye, sir."

The ship's bow began to tilt downward, loose pieces of debris slowly rolling forward.

The Gear's body lolled, and Ky didn't waste any time, lopping off its feet at the ankles. Pulling the injured man's arm around his own shoulders the best he could, he began to drag him up the steadily deepening incline.

The wind brought a keening cry to him, an almost melodious tone. If he turned around, he would be able to see the silhouette, sleek and merciless, plowing through the air like a fish in the water, but not hurriedly… no, never hurriedly. This was the pace of something that was sure of its prey.

His feet slipped on the deck, oil and blood forming a thick, half-coagulated slime. The soldier slid with him like a dead weight, and he had to thrust the Furaiken into the planks to keep himself from losing his balance.

"Sir… leave, please—"

He didn't answer, no time for the man's pointless pleas, concentrating on righting both of them again.

The shadow was now stretching across the deck, filling it completely.

A triumphant shriek sounded above his head, the whistling of winged membranes folding into a dive, and he propelled the man forward by his arm, knowing he wouldn't have enough time to build a charge—

A fireball streaked past his head, sending the smaller Gear hurtling starboard.

"Stupid boy! What are you doing?"

Sol was sliding towards him, grabbing a hold of the wounded man. Then, his hand closed around Ky's arm, pulling him up and tossing him into the shelter of a cannon turret as if he weighed nothing at all.

Not even a second later, Sol dived in behind him.

That musical cry sounded again, unbearably loud this time, and then the ship shook with a great impact, the tail colliding with the bow so hard it tore through the outer hull. The great body came crashing down on the upper decks like a tidal wave, legs as thick as pillars driving into the structure to the sounds of screeching metal and splintering wood.

Ky was barely able to catch himself before his head hit the floor, one of the armored legs ramming into the deck a scant few meters from the cannon turret. It was close enough that he could see the dull gleam, light refracting off the grainy texture like a lobster's shell—

"Fire!"

It was his own voice, the hoarse yell tearing from his throat and racing through the comm-link, even though the rest of him was staring at that mighty leg, following it upwards to the moving, creaking plates of the torso…

"_Fire_!"

There was nothing more than a moment, the smallest fraction of a second, to wonder whether the collision had taken out the weapon system completely, before the world erupted in a brilliant, all-consuming flare.

It was sheer reflex that made him cover his eyes to avoid being blinded. The ship was groaning with the strain, the shriek of pain and outrage from the creature hollering through the air before the blast of magic energy ruptured its armor, burning through its insides.

Deprived of its counter-balance, the lower part toppled backwards, the legs pulling from their holes like uprooted trunks as it slid down. It crashed through the bow railing, vanishing from sight, dragged by the weight of its own tail.

Loud cheering broke out over the radio, a multitude of voices mixing to a single, shrill sound of joy, Andreyev's breathless status report almost entirely lost in the chaos.

"…lost… deck three… five… main cann… scramming— reporting here, _shut up, goddammit_—!"

The tumult quieted down a little at the man's frustrated shout, and Ky couldn't help the smile spreading across his face, rolling onto his back and wiping dirt and ash from his cheeks with one hand. "Using the Lord's name in vain, Lieutenant?"

"My apologies, sir! …fires… deck two and seven, engaging fire protocol and dispatching clean-up crew. Ship is holding up—we've got a clear run into the city!"

"Take us in, then."

It wasn't like they had much of a choice at this point, with the engines running at full throttle just to keep them from falling out of the sky.

"Yes, sir." A brief pause. "And, sir? I'd… I mean, could you please give my apologies to Sir Badguy?"

Ky blinked. "Pardon?"

"I didn't mean to doubt his strategy."

"That—" The radio clicked off.

He sat up, shaking his head to clear it, and turned to look at Sol an arm's length away. There was an ugly cut running down the side of his face, possibly from a stray splinter, but he was smirking in self-satisfied amusement, which meant that he had been listening to the entire conversation.

"…Strategy," Ky reiterated flatly.

"It's about time someone acknowledges my genius."

"I'll be sure to give it honorable mention in the great book of tactics. Under the chapter heading 'sanity is for the weak'."

He clambered to his feet, looping an arm under the injured soldier again. "Let's get this man medical attention."

"Right. We're one wave short of a shipwreck, anyway."

* * *

Bringing down a warship of the _Epifaniy_'s size was a delicate maneuver at the best of times. Now, with several tons of Gear remains attached to its bow, it came down like a lame bird, plowing across the ground with a wave of dirt and debris cresting before it.

The impact knocked everything loose that wasn't tied down, soldiers tumbling down the corridor like toy figurines. Sol landed hard against a metal rafter, a dull ache shooting up his back as the alarms went off throughout the ship, a cacophony echoing through the corridor that was only cut short when the section's power shorted out, sparks from broken wiring raining on the floor.

A push against his chest, two fist-shaped pressure points seeking to dislodge his grip, and he realized that he was still holding onto the kid, had grabbed him in the spur of the moment to spare him the fate of a bruised spine.

He let go, and Ky struggled back up, surveying the chaos. "Status report!"

A yell as something popped overhead, one of the pipes breaking out of its hold and spraying hot steam over the two paramedics tending to the electrocuted soldier.

Sol unceremoniously climbed over the toppled equipment, pushing the piping back into place. The heat on his palm barely even registered, and neither did the awed exclamations of gratitude, because all his attention was still on the kid, who had stopped mid-rescue and returned to his conversation with the bridge, so sure that Sol would handle matters.

His own earpiece gave off a burst of noise.

"—and radar's down. The engines are still functional, sir. We can technically lift off, but…"

"Assign squads Alpha-10 to 16 to help with the removal of carcass," Ky instructed, already moving towards the exit hatch. "Blast off what's unnecessary, use what you can to fix hull damage. Everyone else, you have your orders. Move out."

The acknowledgement got lost in the sound of the hatch opening, grinding loudly in its frame.

Around them stretched the remains of what might have been a plaza long ago. The airship's landing had left a long scar through its middle, tearing open the paving and nearly bringing down the row of buildings on the opposite end.

It was hard to tell what had been ruined in the attack and what had simply crumbled with disuse, the only hint being the occasional blaze. Not a soul in sight, of course, though Sol's instinct said otherwise, bringing to him wisps of curiosity mixing with murderous intent.

"We're just in time for lunch," he said, scanning the area.

Ky was already climbing down the mounds of rubble, sword humming with a barely contained charge. "How many?"

"A few dozen. Small-class, scavengers."

A tiny flicker jumped along the Furaiken's length, the only indication of the kid's thoughts. Roaming scavengers meant the district was lost, unlikely to even harbor body parts.

"I see them."

Across the square, a shape appeared on the ridge of a wall. Soon, it was joined by another, and another, sleek, agile bodies climbing the piles of rubble to regard the unexpected buffet that had crash-landed in their midst.

For a moment, they stood motionless, a sliver of light breaking through the clouds to glint off their bodies, the razor-sharp protrusions from their legs and sides rustling in anticipation.

Silhouetted by the morning sun, Ky charged, shouts rising behind him as more exits slid open and the soldiers burst forward, weapons at the ready, to meet the enemy.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** Monstrous chapter is monstrous. Everything in it would look so much better if I could animate it, I swear. Anyways, C&C is appreciated.

Now on to stuff nobody cares about:

- I've developed an odd sort of pity for people who are not Sol and Ky. "Sir Badguy wants me to do the WHAT with the _WHAT_?"  
- Yes, the squad naming system is lame. It is also efficient. Do I care? Hmmm...  
- Spot the Queen reference, win a cookie.  
- I think I should start a Ky Grab Count.


	6. VI: Life Signs and White Noise

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 6/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** In which the real battle is only just beginning.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part VI_

_._

_._

"Look, snow."

The remark barely got any reaction from the group of men holed up in one of the ruined buildings, sharing ration bars and tending to each other's injuries.

They were resting for the first time since their arrival, conducting one foray after the other, often with no luck at all. Although every survivor was a success, they had dwindled into nothing the farther they went. Most of the districts were devastated and crawling with Gears, hardly even a body left behind. That had taken its toll on them more than anything else, and although everyone had known what the chances would be, it was still hard to accept.

"Early this year," the soldier said, holding out his palm to catch the flakes drifting down from the sky.

"Oh damn, not snow. It's already cold enough," a tall, lanky man grumbled, bundling himself tighter into his overcoat as he chewed on his ration bar.

"It's not that cold, really. And snow means it'll actually be less—"

"How can you even tell?" another asked, shaking off the fine layer of grayish flakes that had settled on his head and shoulders. "Ash… snow… not like there's a difference."

"Except one doesn't mean dead people."

"Gee, thanks for reminding us, Mirko. You're such a bundle of sunshine, you know that? God forbid we forget that for even a second," the first man said, his hand curling into a fist.

"I don't really care what the fuck it is, it's still fucking freezing," the tall soldier muttered, moving to take another bite of his ration bar only to realize that it was already gone, nothing but the empty wrapping crinkling in his hand.

"You can have mine," a young man leaned over, offering him a fresh one. "I mean, you've been at it for so long, and…" He shrugged.

"Not like that's gonna make it any less cold."

Despite the complaint, the bar was snatched away, the soldier wolfing it down with an enthusiasm that belied his tough act. He was tired; they all were, but as a magic user, he was feeling the exhaustion twice as much as everyone else.

"You need one?" the medic asked, holding up a sealed pack of syringes, a pale golden liquid sloshing within. "It'd help with the drain effects."

"Will you stop it with the fucking drugs. I'm already shot up like a bunny on speed. Not looking forward to dying of brain hemorrhage, thank you very much."

"Suit yourself. You just want Alexej to warm you up. Isn't that right, Alexej?"

The young man sat bolt-upright, his face rapidly flushing a shade of crimson. "No, it's not! What the hell are you blathering about?"

"Aw, innit sweet—"

"Guys, could you fucking keep it down," another interjected, frowning at the entire group in disapproval. "How about a bit of decorum. What's the Commander gonna think if he hears you spoutin' all that crap?"

"He's going to think that he has hard-working soldiers who have really earned a break," Ky replied in Russian, turning his attention from the empty streets to flash them a quick smile.

"Oh, fu—I mean, sorry, sir!" Alexej blurted, turning even redder, while the rest of them ducked their heads like a group of chastised children. Clearly, they had been under the impression that he wouldn't understand them.

"Won't happen again, sir! If you'd please overlook—I mean, disregard—dammit. They're really just being idiots, sir."

"Didn't you hear me, soldier?" Ky said gently. "I just said, we all deserve a break."

"Sir! Thank you, sir!"

Ky shook his head, still smiling, and turned his gaze back to the street.

"A break, sir, and yet you're all the way up there?" the squad captain asked, a hulking man at least thrice Ky's own age, shuffling over to peer up at him with concern. "Begging your pardon, but I don't think I've seen you have enough of those, either. And you've been casting non-stop."

He waved one of the rations.

"I'm fi—"

A strange trilling moan caused everyone to flinch.

The jovial mood evaporated as the soldiers scrambled for their weapons, positioning themselves along the jagged walls. Ky slid back on his perch, eyes fixed on the street, the Furaiken coming alive with a soft hum.

The groan resounded again, before a house front on the opposite side collapsed, toppling into the row of buildings on their side. A Gear heaved itself into view, the concrete crumbling under its feet like grain. For a moment, it just stood there, gazing around, before turning to follow the street southward.

A second one waltzed into view, followed by a third and fourth, an entire herd slowly making its way down the street.

None of the men dared to breathe as the massive bodies stalked past, bony thorns the size of a man's trunk decorating the head and back. Ky caught a glimpse of several fingers twitching towards triggers, and quickly signaled them to hold fire.

One by one, the Gears vanished around a bend in the road, though it took considerably longer for the soldiers to relax the grip on their weapons.

The first sigh sounded like an explosion in the deathly stillness, the entire group wincing as one of them doubled over to rest his forehead against his halberd.

"Geez, don't scare us like that, man."

Amidst the half-hearted complaints, another soldier looked up at Ky. "Is it really okay to let them go like this, sir?"

Still staring in the direction in which the Gears had left, Ky shook his head. "That way is just a wasteland. We ought to save our strength."

Against his ear, the radio gave off a burst of static.

"Squad Zeta-6… passed checkpoint… requesting…"

"Come again, Zeta-6?"

More crackling. "Passed checkpoint N67, sir—something's messing wi… with the radio, we can't…"

"Zeta-6? Come in, Zeta-6." Ky adjusted the earpiece, receiving nothing but heavy static, and then—

"…hello…?"

The voice wasn't any he recognized, certainly none of the squad leaders, high-pitched and bewildered.

"Who…?"

"…sir, sir… got someone! Someone's there!"

"This is Commander Kiske. State your name and location."

A pause, and when the voice came again, it was almost too loud, cracking in elation and disbelief. "…can't be, can't—Sir! Commander, sir! This is… 47th division of the Moscow Defense Corps! Requesting assistance, sir!"

Ky's eyes widened. "What's your status?"

"We're under siege at Savior Cathedral, sir. Got the entire church full of refugees—we're running low on supplies. It's not looking good."

"Understood. Hold your position, don't try to fight your way out. If you can, give me an estimate on the enemy and the number of wounded along the way."

A noise on the other end that was half laugh, half sob. "Will do, sir, will do. Thank you so much. When we couldn't raise anyone—but I knew you'd come for us, sir."

Ky bit his lip, pushing back the bitter thoughts. "Just hang in there, soldier. We'll be there as soon as we can."

* * *

"Sir!"

A spear hurtled past his shoulder, slamming a Gear into the wall.

Ky didn't have time to register more than that, busy cutting a swath through an entire pack of the creatures—tall like bears, but agile like greyhounds, swinging their tails like morning stars. They toppled in his wake, blood spilling across the ground.

Next to him, another soldier pulled his sword free, the sweat pouring down his face and back, mixing with the splotches of red staining both their coats.

"We move."

The clatter of equipment resounded as the snipers left their perches, the squad falling back into a tight formation as they pressed on, weaving their way through the ruins. Remnants of walls and chunks of stone barely provided adequate cover, a maze teeming with Gears—and in the middle of it, rising like a symbol of defiance, the white cathedral.

As they were drawing closer, Ky was able to make out the lizards circling the spires, columns of smoke rising between them. Over the last hour, the counterfire had steadily begun to weaken, humans and weaponry alike running out of energy.

"Watch out, there's—"

The rest got lost in a yelp as the scout was forced to take a backwards plunge off the wall, claws embedding themselves in the stone where he had been crouching not a second ago.

A thunder spell flew from Ky's fingertips, knocking the creature out of the air in mid-leap, landing in a sizzling heap right between the soldier's legs. The man let out a startled curse, one of his comrades grabbing him by the collar and half-dragging him to safety.

"Fall back! Here they come!"

Spells and guns could only take out so many before the horde came pouring over the wall, first pouncing upon their own fallen comrades.

Brutal as it might have been, it was a sufficient distraction, the close-range fighters able to find their equilibrium in battle. They had learned very early on to leave Ky his own space and not try to cover him, allowing him to move across the battleground as fast and freely as he could.

The Gears quickly converged on him, and he released another spell, balls of sparking electricity frying them to cardiac arrest. Some of them stumbled back up, their flesh melting off their bones, and were met with the sweeping strikes of the Furaiken, cleaving them in half from shoulder to hip.

"There's no end to these bastards!" one of the soldiers shouted, flinging one of the carcasses into the pack that had decided to go after him.

Blades of wind took out two of them, a mage running to find a better angle of attack. "What, don't tell me you expected them to bow out just 'cause we asked nicely!"

Another wave of lightning tore through the reinforcements, dizzying columns swirling around and into each other, leaving a smoking mess in their wake. He knew he was being reckless, not conserving his energy like he ought to, but they were running out of time. The counterfire from the church had almost dwindled into nothing, irregular blasts of gunfire the only signs that it hadn't been taken yet.

"Sir, you—"

"We need to hurry."

In a way, fighting on open terrain was preferable to this—the battlefield was even and easy to survey, unlikely to hold anything unexpected in store except for new breeds of atrocities. It was easier to move around instead of waving one's way through a labyrinth of destruction, the surroundings as much an enemy as the Gears themselves, crumbling when anyone so much as brushed past them.

More than once, an archway came crumbling down just as they had ducked through, passageways collapsing right in front of their eyes and forcing them to further exhaust themselves by climbing.

Intermittently, the voice from the church would filter through his radio to report on the situation, hoarse and breathless, wavering between fear and hope. There was no way, he knew, no way he could ever right the wrongs that had been committed here, and to hear that person, still so faithful, so glad not to have been forgotten, made him grit his teeth and struggle for calm every time.

It didn't help that all he could do to reassure them was to make vague promises that all sounded the same to him, but meant everything to these men. _His_ men.

_Almost there, almost... so God will._

Ky had nearly lost track of the number of streets they had cut their way through, so it was almost a surprise to vault over a wall, and be confronted with the white-washed walls of the outskirts of the cathedral complex.

A raygun blast streaked right above his head, forcing him to fall into a crouch.

"Hold your fire!"

"Wha—?"

"Do we look like Gears to you?" one of the squad complained, dropping down next to Ky. "Taking the Commander's head off, honestly..."

"The Commander?"

Two soldiers peered out from behind a large boulder a ways away, their faces covered in blood and grime, their eyes gradually widening as they realized whom they had been targeting.

"Sir! Oh, sir! So sorry, we didn't mean to—"

"You're really...!"

"It's quite alright." Ky straightened. "Reinforcements are on their way as we speak. Please take us to your CO so we can be of assistance."

"O-of course, sir."

They stumbled out of their hiding place, still gazing at him and the rest of the squad as if they were apparitions brought on by the first stages of delirium. Their muscles were trembling with fatigue as they attempted to salute, undoubtedly from what had to be hours of lying in wait, with their fingers poised at the trigger.

"It's right this way, sir, if—"

The wall exploded in a rain of bricks and dust.

The men were thrown to the ground as the giant body came barreling through, a whiplash tail bringing the rest of the wall crashing down as it whirled to zero in on its prey... Not him, not his squad, but the two helpless gunners on the other side.

It charged before Ky even had a chance to right himself, and he knew even as he called upon the magic that it wouldn't be enough, it wouldn't be in time—

Something slammed into the creature, sending it careening right into the side of the church. A scream, and a burst of fire, and then nothing but silence.

A figure materialized in the dust, pulling a giant, unwieldy sword from the Gear's torn middle.

"I heard you were starting a party, and I wasn't invited," Sol said casually, shaking blood and shreds of innards from his uniform. "So I just had to come see what that was all about. Entrees sucked, by the way."

Ky clambered to his feet, pushing down astonishment and elation in favor of helping the shocked soldiers to their feet. "I wanted to send you an invite. Except you never did manage to answer your damn phone."

"So sorry to stand you up. My operator got eaten. Along with the phone."

"_Sol._"

Predictably, Sol didn't even react to the reprimand. "The rest were too slow, so I left them behind. Should get here in a bit, though, we picked up a couple more squads on the way. They're pushing through from the east."

"Understood."

"What, no pats? This date is turning out to be a disappointment."

"I'll gladly discuss all the ways in which you're an irresponsible bastard later. For now..." Ky turned to nod at the Moscow guardsmen. "Please lead the way."

"Y-yes, sir."

After rounding one of the spires, they ducked into an alcove. The paving there was intact for the most part, identical tiles lining up to form patterns, but upon flipping a hidden switch, one slid back to reveal a trap door with a set of ancient stone stairs.

"Please watch your step, Sir Kiske, this corridor leads through the crypt."

"You sure you won't have any more people aiming for the Commander down there?" the squad captain joked as they ducked into the passage, but was met with two appalled stares.

"Of course not, sir! We have our hands full just watching the actual exits..."

The tile slid closed behind them.

"How many are you?" Ky asked, cautiously feeling his way along the rough stone of the corridor. Most of the soldiers were forced to duck their heads to avoid the low ceiling, Sol's wide shoulders brushing the walls as he walked.

"When the sentry system started going haywire, Lieutenant Sokol told us to get everyone we could and take them to safety. We've got over one and a half thousand civilians in the cathedral, sir. The lieutenant's got the coordinates for the other locations, but... we're not sure how many made it. There's just forty-three of us left here, and we lost contact when the radio network was killed."

Ky lowered his head, clamping down on the anger surging up once more. Forty-three soldiers defending a church for more than twelve hours, each passing hour killing their hopes a little more. "I apologize."

"Sir?"

Any reply he might have had got lost in a loud scraping sound, another stone tile sliding back to reveal a shaft of light, and the soft murmuring of many voices from above. As they emerged from the ground, a nearby soldier turned as much as the multitude of cables around his neck would allow.

"Sergej, what are you doing... here..." He trailed off, his eyes growing wide. "Sir!"

Ky had to stop himself from wincing at the sheer amount of happiness in his voice, the same voice he had been talking to for the past few hours. Heads turned as the man tried to get up from the floor, but nearly sent the radio apparatus toppling over on its side. A shiver of unrest went through the crowd, tired, frightened faces staring at him, incredulous whispers running back and forth.

"Sir, thank you so much. I knew you'd come, I just knew—" The man interrupted himself, struggling to calm down. "How's the situation, sir?"

"Where is Lieutenant Sokol?"

"Oh." His face darkened. "A Gear got him, nearly took off his arm. They've been working on patching him up, but I don't know how well it's going—"

"Well enough to ask what the fuck is going on here."

The people shifted as another soldier pushed through, one side of his uniform tattered and stiff with blood. He was bandaged from shoulder to waist, wearing his right arm in a makeshift sling, more blood slowly seeping through the dressings. His other arm was badly burnt, the skin a darkened, gleaming mess.

"Lieutenant, sir! You shouldn't be up, you're—"

"Where the hell have you been, huh?" Sokol demanded, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Where the hell have you been, you fucking prancing assholes with your glorious rescue squad?"

He pushed past his stunned subordinates to stare down Ky, pure, unadulterated fury blazing in his eyes.

"Where! Is this how you treat people fighting for that fucking cross, by letting them die like goddamn idiot martyrs?" He reached out, grabbing Ky by the shoulder with his burnt arm. "Look at this, _Commander_. Look at them. _This_ is what I got told to hold the fucking line for! People! Living, breathing, goddamn real people! And your putzes are telling me to fucking _wait_?"

"Sir!"

Ky shook his head, carefully dislodging the lieutenant's grip from his shoulder and meeting his gaze. "I can't offer any words that will convince you of my sincerity. But..."

He reached into the pack at his belt to withdraw a roll of gauze, the lieutenant going very still as he began to wrap the burns. "...we're here now."

* * *

"Sir?"

The word was hardly louder than a whisper, but spoken in the arching space of the cathedral ship, it still rose above the buzz of voices, echoing between the columns.

"What."

It was strange how the mere architecture of a place could hush people, silence them in an acoustically-induced version of humility. Strange, how it happened even to him, could make him lower his voice just to avoid having half the church freeze up and stare at him in this half-fearful, half-hopeful fashion, searching his expression for a hint of salvation or damnation, every time.

"Um. There's a transmission, sir." The soldier fidgeted.

"He's over there." Sol jerked his chin towards the center aisle.

"Erm."

Of course, he had a fair idea about what was keeping the soldier here, nervously hovering around a disgruntled guy with no command status at all rather than trying to approach the Supreme Commander.

The kid was still at it, walking along the aisles, distributing supplies and kind words among the refugees even long after the healers had made their rounds. At the moment, he was bending down to an old woman, patting her hands and smiling as if he'd taken a lease on the wellspring of eternally faithful confidence.

The scene was entirely too much like the wall paintings for comfort. All that was missing, really, was the damn halo.

"Give me that."

Snatching the sheaf of paper from the soldier's hands, Sol trudged over, simply stepping over the legs and belongings in his way.

"Delivery for you."

Ky glanced at him, before slowly pulling his hands from the old woman's grasp. "I'll be right back, ma'am."

She barely seemed to register his words as they moved away, muttering to herself in broken Russian and wiping at her eyes.

As soon as they were out of earshot, the kid shook his head, his entire countenance changing as he accepted the transmission. "They're ready to take the next group. The _Slava_ was forced to touch down several kilometers south of the intended location to avoid detection. That's a good four kilometers from the last point."

"More than that. There's a stretch rife with the local fauna between us and the target."

Ky looked at him. "But you have an alternative route in mind."

Sol shrugged. "Bit of a detour, but it should keep the nastiest stuff off our backs."

"How much?"

"Two, maybe three kilometers more."

"At least twelve in total, then. We won't manage that much, not with the elderly." He frowned deeply, before waving a soldier closer. "Alright. We'll reorganize the groups. Move any old and wounded to the first group. Assign additional manpower to protect them. The _Eudoxia_ is much closer, they should be able to make it."

"Understood, sir."

"Commander!"

The shout rebounded from the walls of the cathedral, causing everyone to flinch and stare as another soldier made his way towards them, carrying the heavy communication unit and almost stumbling over the pews in his haste.

"Keep your voice down, Sergeant," Ky admonished, directing a reassuring nod at the worried gazes that had settled on them. "What's the matter?"

"My apologies, sir. It's just—the _Askold_, sir. The _Askold_'s gone!"

"An attack?"

"We don't know—there was no transmission, not even an SOS. _Epifaniy_ says it's just up and vanished from the radar, sir."

"Put me through to the _Epifaniy_," Ky ordered, a spark of worry flickering and dying in his eyes as soon as it had appeared.

The soldier was adjusting dials and punching buttons, the device beeping its acquiescence. "You're through, sir."

Ky took the receiver. "Lieutenant?"

"Andreyev here, sir."

"What's the _Askold_'s last known position?"

"Fifteen kilometers south of your current location, sir. Their last transmission said they were approaching to land. Ten minutes later, it disappeared from all sensors. We've been trying to raise them, but..."

Sol frowned. "Well, not even a Gear attack is this quick. Unless it got blown up—"

"Negative, sir. We've not detected any large-scale explosions in the area."

"—then there should still be a tracking signal."

There was no reply for a moment. "...Negative, sir. I'm sorry."

The kid shook his head, drawing a deep breath. "Alright, Lieutenant. Tell Squad Phi-13 to meet me at Bolshoy Kamenny Bridge. I'll look into the matter. All other squads proceed to their checkpoints as planned. We need to move these people out."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "Please be careful out there."

The line went dead. Ky adjusted the straps on his gloves, any trace of softness gone from his features as he addressed the operator. "You have your orders, Sergeant. Proceed with the evacuation, and tell Captain Miklos he'll be leading the first group in my place. Sol?"

"And here I thought you'd try to send me to play meat shield for the crocheting club," Sol said, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. Not that he was about to protest an assignment that suited his intentions, as it certainly was nice to see the kid was learning, but it did bear mentioning.

"You assume I'm delusional enough to believe that you'd follow these orders for even five minutes," Ky said, drawing his sword. "You're coming with me. I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

"Are those really the last known coordinates?"

They were moving through the remains of a toppled building, perhaps a former skyscraper, broken glass and furniture from forever ago littering the floors. Their boots were leaving long streaks in the dirt, dust and ash swirling around them.

Sol was holding up one of the half-collapsed steel supports around the exit for Ky to pass through, letting it crash to the ground right after.

The kid barely reacted, all of his attention focused on the mystery of the disappearing ship.

"Positive, sir. It should be right beyond here."

"Should've been able to see it, then," Sol said, voicing what everyone had been trying to avoid putting into words.

The _Askold_ might have been one of their smaller ships, but at thirty meters in height, it was still considerably larger than a capsized building.

"It can't just have vanished into thin air, though. If anything—"

Rounding the last mound of debris, everyone fell abruptly silent.

"...Fucking hell."

Those were the only words that could adequately describe the sight stretching before them. What should have been a plaza had become a giant crater, the ground dropping away into pitch blackness as if the earth had simply opened up to swallow anything on the surface.

"My God," Ky murmured softly among the hissed oaths from the rest of the squad, stepping closer to the edge of the hole and trying to peer inside. "That's—"

"Large enough to fit an airship through."

"_How._"

Sol shook his head, inspecting the ground. "Beats me."

"Fine then." Ky straightened, raising his arm to draw the men out of their stupor. "Get the ropes. If the _Askold_ is really down there, we'll find a way to the bottom."

It took a moment for the soldiers to gather their wits and obey his command, their doubtful glances flickering between the treacherous safety of the fallen building and the rim of the crater.

"...If there is a bottom."

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** It's absurd how fond I can grow of little flunkies that only show up for a scene or two. XD Anyway, C&C is welcome and appreciated.

Notes for the bored:  
- I really don't buy into the "unlimited magical power" trope for humans. So that's why they get special drugs to combat drain effects.  
- Rayguns, for the record, are giant rifles. Not the sci-fi equivalents of desperado pistols. xD  
- Squad naming system is pretty Spartian, but eh. Better than generating dialogue à la "badger to eagle".  
- The Order is metric because most of Europe is metric and I hate converters.


	7. VII: Shadows in the Dark

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 7/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part VII_

_._

_._

"My god."

The oath echoed along the walls of the cavern like a gunshot, followed by a number of whispered epithets in Russian telling the speaker to shut up.

"It's alright," Ky murmured, though inwardly, he felt just as tense. His attention was fixed on the structure rising in the semi-darkness, the remains of the _Askold_'s broken hull stretching towards the faint light like spindly arms.

"If anything's around, it'd have caught wind of us by now, anyway," Sol said, not bothering to lower his voice as they continued to descend, half-skidding down the steep incline, gravel and small rocks tumbling into the gloom beneath.

"You think—?"

"Nah." Sol shrugged, but Ky still caught the subtle change in his demeanor that meant he was checking again, just to be sure.

"Let's risk a bit of light, then."

A simple shift of pressure set the Furaiken into wait mode, small, steady arcs of lightning spreading a soft light. Behind him, several more spots flared up, a few fire users lighting the way for their comrades. If anything, the light only made them seem more forlorn, the vast space closing in on them.

"This… can't be manmade, can it?" Ky asked, following Sol's seemingly blind leaps into the darkness, yet always landing on solid footing.

"Just the upper parts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can't see it, but we've been down through three layers of tunnels already," Sol said. "They dug up the entire city for a public transport system."

Drawing his brows together, Ky tried to imagine any kind of vehicle able to travel such an extensive underground network. All that came to mind were mine carts.

"Before the war, you mean?"

There was no answer.

He sighed, and decided to change the subject. "So if it's just the upper levels, this is…?"

A frustrated noise. Sol hated being made to explain things.

"Seismic activity, probably. Place has a history of roads breaking up and whatnot. Nobody really bothered to investigate the cause. Wouldn't be surprised if they just forgot about it."

"Then this could have been a natural cave-in."

"Let's hope that's all it is."

Up close, the damage to the ship appeared to be much more severe; the main cannon had been lodged into the rock wall and entire sections of the outer plating were missing, the airship more resembling a gutted carcass than anything else. Ky tried the radio again, but there was no reply, only static hissing.

"Alright. Find a way inside the ship and try to locate survivors. Stay alert, and report anything untoward."

Silent salutes answered him, the soldiers spreading out to slip through the gaps in the hull. He stayed behind, trailing after Sol, who was already making his way along the side of the ship to inspect the damage.

"Was all that really caused by the impact?"

"Hard to say. Something of that size drops, any number of things happen."

"But you don't think so, either."

"No."

Frowning deeply, Ky stopped, gazing up at the structure. He wasn't an expert, of course, but some of the gaps were resembling the tears of claws entirely too much for comfort. Still, he had never heard of anything so large operating underground—the real predators out for the airships were all creatures of the air, and would be unable to fit into this space due to sheer wingspan. It was always possible that a number of smaller Gears had ganged up on the ship after its fall, but they wouldn't have fled at their approach. Perhaps—

"Rear's gone."

"_What_?"

"The fucking rear is gone."

"That's impossible!" Hurrying after Sol's voice, he came to a stop as the ship abruptly ended, half its bulk vanished into thin air. "Where—?"

"I can't see it." Sol was squinting into the darkness. "It's not here."

"Then…"

Turning back, he allowed the Furaiken to flare brighter, scanning the separated section with steadily increasing disbelief. There was nothing to suggest an explosion or a fire, not with the cave intact and not the least bit of burnt material. The entire expanse was smooth and clean, corridors and interior piping simply extending into nothing, as if sawn in two by a knife.

Ky reached out to run a hand along one of the severed metal beams, and drew back with a startled yelp.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, hissing and clenching his fist in an effort to stop the burning pain. Sol reappeared at his side, prying his hand away from his chest and forcing his fingers open.

"Shit."

Freeing the canteen from his belt, he upended the entire contents on Ky's hand. The stinging lessened almost immediately, the water draining to reveal the tattered glove, bits of fabric flaking away like loose leaves.

"Can you move your hand?"

Curling his fingers experimentally, Ky nodded. The skin felt raw and tender, as if he had stuck it into a pot of boiling soup, but was thankfully still whole.

"Thank you, it'll be fine." He returned to inspecting the place he had touched for any sign of a strange substance. "What was that? That wasn't a coolant leak."

Sol reached past him and unceremoniously pressed the empty canteen against the beam, watching as it began to smoke and sizzle. When he finally let go, there was a sizable hole in its side.

"I'd say you just found the method they used to cut this thing in two. Whatever that stuff is, just the residue's potent enough."

"So fast…"

"Sir!" A soldier was running towards them, half-tripping over rocks in his haste. "Sir, we've found survivors!"

"How many?"

"We can't say yet, sir. We're still trying to get them out. Everything's been warped by the crash."

"Alright. Tell the men to avoid touching the hull at all costs. It might have been covered in extremely strong acid."

The man gulped, his eyes widening. "Yes, sir. And, sir? They say they have no idea what hit them, but they were touching down to pick up evacuees."

"…And the cargo bay opens towards the rear."

Biting his lip, the soldier nodded.

Without a word, Sol turned, and stalked off.

"Wait a minute. We don't even know what did this. You're not going to hunt it down."

"Whatever it is, it's strong enough to open up fissures and precision-cut titanium," Sol growled, unsheathing the sword from his back as he walked. "I don't have to tell you what that means for us."

Ky sighed, biting back the reply, and addressed the soldier instead. "Alright, Corporal. I want these people out of there. Leave everything else, and head to checkpoint N9 for medical attention. Don't wait for us. Anyone who's incapacitated will board with the next group of civilians. Contact Lieutenant Andreyev for further orders."

"Yes, sir. If you're going to look for the other half…" The soldier hesitated. "Best of luck, sir."

"Thank you, Corporal," Ky said, nodding firmly. "To both of us."

With that, he jogged after Sol's retreating back. "You're not going alone."

"I'm not gonna take troops. They'd just get in the way," Sol said, jerking his head back towards the ship.

"No. You're taking _me_."

* * *

It felt like they had been walking for hours, all sense of time and distance dulled by the darkness. In reality, Ky knew it was probably less, even though it had been a long time since they had left the site of the crash in search for the missing half.

The system of caves seemed to stretch on endlessly, sometimes leading upwards, sometimes further downwards, tunnels branching out from the main cleft or joining back together.

The smaller ones appeared to be man-made, as he sometimes caught glimpses of abandoned construction work, piping and a strange kind of metal track running along the ground in places. They had been following the fissure for the longest time, until Sol had discovered a tunnel wide enough to drag parts of a small supply ship into.

Ky was left with little choice but to follow, forced to put his faith in whatever it was that Sol could sense.

His earpiece gave off another burst of static, and he pulled it out, hooking it back into his belt. Right now, it was useless, and there was no sense in allowing it to distract him.

"Worried?"

After the bout of silence, Sol's voice seemed almost unbearably loud.

He shook his head. "Andreyev is a competent soldier. I trust he can handle matters. I just hope whatever got the _Askold_ hasn't managed to get a hold of anything else."

Sol shrugged. "It'll likely be busy for a while. This is like shellfish for Gears."

Ky didn't reply. He knew Sol was right, of course, knew why the monster had made off with the ship, and how unlikely it was that anyone would still be alive by the point they found it.

_I'm sorry._

The prayer that came to him was short and simple, one he had seen inscribed on the gates to an Orthodox church and memorized to be able to pay his respects if need be, but he went over it regardless, all too aware that nobody would ever learn so much as the names of these unfortunate souls. At least, he might be able to prevent further suffering, if—

Sol's hand against his chest stopped him dead. The Furaiken's light died down immediately, plunging the tunnel into blackness.

"How many?" His voice was hardly louder than a breath.

There was a pause, Sol listening intently. "Over two dozen. Small-sized."

"Then—"

Sol charged.

Biting back a curse, Ky followed, the sword flickering back to life in his hand.

Sol's definition of "small-sized" had to be different from everyone else's, as the things were still almost as tall as a human. His blade slammed into the first Gear's open jaw, the current momentarily lighting it up from the inside.

Three more lunged for him, and he caught an impression of their shape—spindly legs, poised tail, armored forearms. They were caught in the spell sent to greet them, blue lightning momentarily plunging the cavern into brightness.

Another leapt from the side of the wall, hoping to skewer him, and he brought the blade around, severing its legs and sending it skittering into the darkness.

"Pro-tip!" Sol shouted over the cacophony of death cries. "Try to avoid their spit. It hurts. Lots!"

"We're being _spat_ to death?" Ky yelled back, dancing out of the reach of a tail swipe. The spike buried itself in the ground, and he wasted no time, piercing the creature's ribcage.

"It's Tuesday! What do you expect?"

"I can't dodge what I can't see!"

His call was swallowed by an explosion, the ground rocking precariously as a stream of fire sent several Gears hurtling towards the opposite wall.

"Try not to collapse the cave on top of us!"

"And here I thought you'd be the type for candlelight," Sol shot back. "Fine then, sparkplug! Ten yards to your right—box at shoulder level."

Ky didn't even think to ask what he was talking about.

Dashing for the location, he thrust his hand against the wall, a charge jolting through the metal under his fingers. The effect was instantaneous—along the wall, rows of bulbs flared to life, brightening the cavern like floodlights.

A chorus of surprised wails met the sudden brilliance, even as several bulbs shattered under the strain, the creatures rearing back to spit their acidic saliva—but not at either of them. They were staggering about aimlessly, twisting as if to escape the light and accidentally hitting their comrades with the spray.

Across the chaos, Sol shrugged, and dived in.

After the dust had finally settled, Ky carefully poked at a carcass, rolling it over on its side. Now that he could see them properly, they all appeared to be of the same type, a grotesque composition of scorpion and alligator, varying only in size. A strange sac attached to their underside seemed to be holding the deadly acid.

"I've never seen those before," he murmured, slicing the sac open and watching the liquid dribble out onto the Gear's legs to no apparent effect.

"How creative," Sol muttered. "The damn things are silicon-based… fire does nothing. And they can't hurt themselves with this."

He slammed his sword down, severing a leg partition. At Ky's look, he shrugged. "For the eggheads."

"Right," Ky said. Then, he caught sight of something towards the far end of the cave, outside the glaring circle formed by the light bulbs. "Wait. I think—"

"Hm?"

Stepping closer, he could make out a large, haphazard structure, some portions still vaguely curved in the manner of an airship's hull.

Even without a close inspection, he could tell that the rear had been torn apart, half-dissolved to drag out the helpless victims within. He gritted his teeth.

"…I've found the airship."

Sol didn't reply, so he turned back around, surveying the cavern. Something was nagging him, though for a moment, he couldn't say what it was.

He turned over another body, this one a small-scale replica of the first. For a new species of Gear, they appeared to be oddly fragile; deadly in a surprise assault in darkness, perhaps, but not overly difficult to kill. And far too few to drag an airship.

Something gave under the heel of his boot, and he looked down to see the splinters of a strange kind of hollow rock. Bemused, he picked it up, turning it over in his hand and feeling the odd patterns, a realization dawning as he did so.

"Sol, that… might be a nest."

No answer.

"_Sol_."

"Get back from the wall."

His feet were moving before the command even registered, swiftly backing away towards the center of the cave. Even as he did so, he was beginning to feel what had drawn Sol's attention—vibrations in the ground, growing steadily stronger.

He hit Sol's back, who barely acknowledged it. "You think—?"

Sol merely adjusted his grip on the sword in response. "Mommy's mad, alright."

* * *

Size didn't necessarily reflect a Gear's capacity for dealing twenty different kinds of horrifically creative agony—in fact, there were some types considerably larger in size than the average Megadeath.

When the rock wall burst open, though, boulders and debris hurtling everywhere, it was safe to say that someone had been subscribing to the bigger equals better philosophy on this thing.

There was nothing like several tons of death barreling towards you, arms poised like battering rams, followed by a bottomless maw. Against his back, the kid took off, wisely bringing himself out of range to leave the part of crash test dummy to someone who was actually durable enough.

The first blow sent him stumbling, the powerful forearm crashing against the flat of his blade with unchecked force. The second blow nearly managed to wrest the sword from his grasp, sending him flying across the space. His feet barely touched the ground before he was forced to leap out of the way, the massive tail slamming into the place he had been in a mere moment ago.

He landed in a low crouch, muscles tensed to evade another blow, but instead, the creature swiveled, trying to target a flash of white to its side. A flash that leapt through the air like a butterfly, landing neatly on the Gear's back and driving down the sword with a burst of lightning.

The creature howled in surprise rather than pain, tail arching as the kid drew back for another strike, and Sol glimpsed rows of impossibly sharp spikes, gleaming in the flickering light—

"_Move_!"

The fireball was more distraction than actual attack, but the Gear howled again, backing away from the flare. The spikes went off, regardless, cutting through the air like spears, but that split-second was all it had taken, Ky landing securely a few yards away.

"It's like concrete!" he called. "Not a scratch!"

"Well, lovely."

A normal Gear, even an armored one, would've been skewered by the blow—but a normal Gear wouldn't have allowed someone to get that close so easily. The damn thing was a tank, and knew it.

Now it swerved, zeroing in on them again. The flat of one forearm swung in the kid's general direction, but there was nothing he could do about that, as the other arm decided to go straight for him. They connected with the ground, driving into the rock like butter, dust and debris spraying everywhere.

The monster turned, devoting its entire attention to him. There was no telling what had happened to the kid, but he had other problems on his hands right now—like evading the reach of a staccato of blows.

All of a sudden, the Gear gave a shrill shriek and staggered, one of its legs slowly breaking away.

All he had was a momentary impression of the kid, darting away from certain impalement, but then he himself was already on top of those monstrous shovels, running up its length to the juncture and driving in the sword as hard as he could.

The carapace splintered, the creature howling and shaking violently in an effort to get rid of him. Sol allowed himself to be thrown, grabbing a hold of the sword hilt as he did so, wrenching the blade like a lever to bring himself back down.

The remaining arm swung at him, the Gear now goaded into a pain-fueled rage. Another glimpse of the kid, flying past him at the creature's defenseless flank and driving the sword deep inside the leaking wound, lightning ripping down its length.

Squirming in pain, the Gear reared back, the kid lifted along with it like nothing at all. A slight twist of the blade caused it to slip free, Ky falling back down as the monster rose higher and higher, revealing the pulsating sac at its underside.

_Oh, fuck._

"Get back!"

It was useless, he knew that even as he barked out the warning, the thing's range more than enough to drench the entire cavern—so all that was left to do was grab the kid and slam both of them into the wall, the acid spray against his own back making him cry out.

"Sol!"

"I'm—"

_Fine_, he wanted to say, choking on the words, before they were thrown to the ground as twenty tons of Gear came crashing back down like a tidal wave.

Underneath them, the rock was cracking and splintering, slabs sliding into the opening fissure even as Sol tried to right himself.

A shriek of outrage from the creature, legs groping at nothing as it was swallowed by the breaking bedrock, before their own perch tilted towards a gaping abyss.

"No—!"

Grabbing the kid by the scruff, it was a blind toss, his arm refusing to cooperate properly. Ky kept yelling at him even as he was thrown, landing hard a few paces away. His last glimpse was of that face, frozen in incredulity and fury, before a boulder slammed into him, and then, there was nothing but the rush of air, and a fall of hundreds of feet to the bottom.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** I just realized this chapter would merit an obligatory "Oh no, I'm falling!" joke. Ah well. XD Thanks to **Tofu** for her help. C&C, as always, is welcome and appreciated.

Authorial Babbling Corner:  
- Let it be said here that The Last Remnant soundtrack has excellent cave-crawling music.  
- Actually, what Sol is saying about Moscow is true. The city has a history of seismic instability that will often cause random roads to break up. Nobody is sure about the cause, but the construction of a huge subway system and lots of underground buildings sure isn't helping.  
- KGC (Ky Grab Count): 4.


	8. VIII: Rock Bottom

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 8/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** Rock bottom. Literally.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part VIII_

_._

_._

He hit rock a lot sooner than he'd thought, pain jolting through his shoulder and sending his sword skittering away. He had a second to watch it spiraling further into the darkness, before the ledge gave, sending him tumbling down a slope, and then he was falling again.

His hands scrambled to his forehead, one finger finding the destabilizer. It was almost a relief to surrender a part of his rationale for instinct, to feel the burning sensation in every cell, the bones and sinew bulging beneath his skin, rising slowly.

Much too slowly.

When the wings finally ripped free, it was like a parachute opening too late, pathetic flaps trying in vain to catch his weight.

_Sometimes… I hate being the vintage model._

The force of the fall knocked the wind out of him, his vision graying into indistinct blurs.

For a moment, he could do nothing except lie where he had fallen, trying to get the air flowing in his lungs again. Suddenly, the ground rocked, tilting ever so slightly—

_Not again._

—bony creaks echoing in the stillness.

With a start, he realized just where he had landed as the monster gave a deep groan, legs struggling for purchase in the air.

_It's Tuesday, alright._

Gritting his teeth, he rolled to his feet, catching sight of the meat cleaver sticking out of the stone some yards away.

Lovely. Beat fighting with fists any day.

The Gear groaned again, this time in displeasure as it noticed what was scrambling around on top of it, the great tail beating against the ground with a shuddering thump. Sol didn't waste any time.

The acid sac itself was immune to fire, but the liquid within was not, the silicone skin rupturing in the heat and releasing a cloud of smoke. Amidst the agonized screeching, he leapt.

Easily covering the distance, he wrenched the weapon free from the rocks, swiveling just in time to stare down the howling maw.

_Bring it on._

The irrational part of him was looking forward to paying the thing back, to skewer it with its own legs like an hors d'oeuvre, but the rest of him was calling for caution. The monster had hardly fought like a Megadeath until now, it hadn't had a reason. Now, though, he could feel the cold fury radiating from it, a focus so intense that it was palpable—two human soldiers hadn't been worthy of that, but another Gear certainly was.

They charged.

In many ways, it was like running towards an approaching freight train, the Gear barreling through solid rock with no delay, ready to simply trample him into dust. He kicked off at the last possible moment, feeling the draft as the giant arm smashed past him—

The injured leg had already begun to heal, but a massive sword strike shattered the juncture completely.

Seven more to go.

He felt more than saw the tail rising to impale him, the plates creaking as it curved, and then the rush of air as the bulky tip descended like a demolition ball. There was no room in the Gear's mind for the idea that it might miss, or the consequences, its wail of surprise echoing along the walls as Sol evaded, using his entire weight to drive the tip deep into its back.

The monster shook, ripping the tail out of its own husk in one fluid motion and tossing him at the wall.

Sol allowed the momentum to carry him, wings spreading out to touch smoothly to the rock. He remained poised for a second, watching as the monster's head jerked up to regard him, and smirked.

The fireballs hit like flash grenades, the Gear rearing back as it was blinded, and he took the chance to swoop down, driving his sword into a front leg. It cracked, sagging, but the monster twisted regardless, another punch from the forearm forcing him upwards.

There was no more than a split second to realize his mistake, to recognize that this was what it wanted, the dying embers reflecting off fresh rows of razor-sharp spikes.

Sol dived as the first row was flung at him, swerving and dodging in the limited space of the cavern as the spikes rained down—volleys, it figured the damn thing could do volleys—embedding themselves in the rock in his wake.

He fell back against the wall to anticipate the next strike, eyes on the remaining row, when something smashed into him, tearing the sword from his grasp.

The thing wrapped around him in mid-fall, and he caught an impression of sinew and pulsing flesh as he was lifted up like a prize—the arm, it was regrowing its fucking arm—before the ground came rushing up to meet him.

If he had been human, the impact would have crushed every bone in his body.

Instead, a searing pain sparked down his back, bright specks flashing before his eyes, the reverberations of the creature's advance causing them to flare with every step. The blood was roaring in his ears, and he squinted helplessly, thought he saw the blurry silhouette staring down at him…

_Toying with us, like an insect—_

The thought was laced with rage, strong and clear amidst the numbness, and it grew clearer still as he became aware of a new pain, sharp and sudden in his skull. Something had wrapped around his head and was lifting him, higher and higher, the pressure intensifying as he rose towards that maw, the creature's beady eyes staring at him dispassionately.

The thing didn't just want to kill him, it wanted to watch him die.

_How dare it, how /dare/ it— _

The anger rose like a wave, drowning out everything else, washing away thought and reason, and then something cracked, something cracked and _broke_, eliminating the last barrier keeping the fury at bay.

He fell, or it felt like he did, allowing the burning wrath to swallow him as instinct won out completely. His body was twisting, warping, parts turning inside out and outside in, ripping apart what he was to reassemble into something new.

He thought he heard the creature scream again, thought he saw fire, but couldn't be sure, glad for the all-consuming pain of the transformation.

The pincer slammed around him again, shears cutting into his skin, dragging him off the ground. For a moment he felt suspended, motionless, his body still writhing as it changed, and then he became aware of the draft against his skin, sharp and whistling.

The creature had taken off running, heading straight for the opposite wall.

It was ironic how a part of him was able to keep thinking, had always been able to keep thinking, through it all. No matter the circumstances, no matter the pain or the insanity—his own, everything—something always remained aware, clinical and dispassionate, to judge.

The thought that came to him now as he was being smashed through rock and gravel, breaking bones, tearing flesh, not knowing upwards or downwards, was as dry and humorless as any he'd ever had, but certainly the most idiotically obvious.

_Being a battering ram really fucking /hurts/._

The sudden blast of chilly air against his back almost hurt more than the solid stone. Sol had a momentary impression of a great cave, piles of debris and abandoned construction work, before he was smashed into the wall again.

A howl tore from his throat as metal rods pierced his flesh, pinning him to the wall like a hapless moth. He could smell the creature's self-satisfaction at the sight, just before the tail swung around again, ripping him off his impalement and flinging him to the ground.

It didn't strike immediately, instead waiting for Sol to struggle back up, before the great tail parted, the bulky shell splitting to reveal the stinger. Then, it rushed forward, the spike ramming into his shoulder and knocking him back down, embedding itself to the hilt.

He reached out almost instinctively, his hand wrapping around the bony appendage, tugging even though it was useless, even though it wouldn't budge.

Already, he could feel the numbness spreading, a slow coldness seeping outwards from the wound. The Gear had been waiting for this, he realized, was waiting for him to understand, and accept his defeat…

_Not a chance, you ugly bastard. Not a chance… /in hell/!_

The crack echoed through the cave like a gunshot.

The Gear froze, confusion rolling off it as it searched for the source of the noise, its gaze eventually coming to rest on Sol—

The tail end shattered under his grasp, splinters raining everywhere. The Gear skittered back, its decapitated tail swinging aimlessly, suddenly uncertain now that it was deprived of its greatest asset.

_Say goodnight._

He rushed forward, intent only on one goal. The Gear was moving to defend its flank, so sure that he'd try to come at its legs again, leaving itself wide open—

He slammed into its jaw, arm thrusting out to reach deep inside. A firestorm ripped from his hand and roared down its gullet, melting it from the inside.

The Gear screeched and struggled, writhing around him, its massive teeth leaving gashes on his arm, but he simply didn't stop, burns forming on his own skin from the strain. After what seemed like forever, the giant's death screams finally subsided, the great body collapsing in a cloud of dust.

Slowly, Sol pulled back, the stink of molten flesh burning in his throat as he gasped for air, trying to gather his wits.

The adrenaline was steadily draining away, the pain swimming back into focus, his entire body protesting the abuse it had sustained. Blood was drizzling to the ground in steady little springs—he'd have to take care of that, wouldn't he, living shashlik was only fun when it was happening to someone else—and… the limiter.

Something had happened to the limiter, he'd—

He reached up to touch his forehead, meeting smooth plating… and the mark, flaring unhindered under his palm.

_Well, fuck._

A sudden noise made him jerk upright, all thoughts of putting himself back together and hunting down his equipment scattering like leaves.

"…Sol?"

.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** Short chapter, because I like cliffhangers. XD Thanks to Tofu for all the hard work. C&C is appreciated.

Authorial Tea and Cookies:  
- I've taken some artistic liberties concerning Sol's actual Gear form. More details on that in the next chapter, but it is based on the original artwork by Daisuke Ishiwatari, which depicts Sol in DragonInstall mode with black wings and tail.  
- Those who know me know of my penchant for giving Sol's Gear side a voice. Since he's the prototype, there's a lot of room for fun speculation in that regard. I think becoming a Gear has a lot to do with enhancing the subconscious and reactivating all those brain structures piled up inside of a human being (particularly to enhance reaction and instinct), and it's pretty interesting to give that primal side a voice.

.


	9. IX: Confrontation

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 9/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** And the truth comes out... sort of.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part IX_

_._

_._

"…Sol?"

Ky stopped dead, squinting against the dust. Although the sounds of battle had faded a little while ago, it still hung thick in the air, the biting fumes making his eyes water.

Against the far end, he could barely make out the shape of the toppled Megadeath, unmoving… and a tall, dark silhouette, tense and very much alive, staring straight at him.

Waiting.

"You…"

The dark shape tensed even further, a threatening rustle resounding through the cavern like the movement of great wings.

Blinking away the sting, Ky found himself trying to make out the details, any sign of something familiar, but it was useless. The Gear was a shadow among shadows, only discernible by the tattered white remains of the uniform that were clinging to its body, slowly darkening as they became soaked with blood.

It did not move, so Ky forced himself not to move, either, silencing the instinct that was screaming at him to fight, to strike before the creature could recover—

_He's /not/ a creature._

It was easy, he realized, so very easy to depersonalize what one couldn't understand, the mind so eager to label, to categorize, to _judge_, to call one thing "human" and the other "less than" in an almost desperate effort to assert itself as something better and worthier.

Ky hadn't been afraid of Gears since his parents' death.

Back then, he had gathered all that fear, despair and anger and transformed them, turned them into determination, because anything else would have meant giving up. He had never been afraid of dying, staring down the nightmares sent to greet him because it was his duty, but now he found there was another fear, so deeply ingrained as to almost be invisible…

Man's inherent fear of the Other.

"Sol, you… I… I'm afraid it broke your sword, Sol. But… I guess you didn't need that."

He was sounding ridiculous even to his own ears, talking about something so irrelevant, repeating the other man's name as if to connect the alien silhouette in front of him to the person he had known, as if to remind Sol who he was, and who was speaking to him.

It was beyond foolish, really—he knew he wouldn't have more than a split second to regret it if Sol took it badly, if he had indeed lost his mind.

He had no idea, after all, what it was that had kept Sol safe from being controlled, what had kept him on their side, whether it had been the human shape, or—

_Listen to yourself. You're doing it again. That Gear, Testament… he looks human, and he's still with Justice, even though he used to be… even though Kliff said…_

He shook his head.

This was the man who had saved his life mere minutes ago. Who had been fighting at his side for all those months. The man who had dug him out of the rubble of a ruined white city with the strangest expression on his face and had carried him back because he'd been too injured to walk by himself. To believe that all of this was gone…

_I can't. I already knew… when I said I trusted him that day, I already knew. I made that decision a long time ago, and I will /not/ go back on it._

He took a slow step forward.

A warning growl met his advance, a deep rumbling sound that echoed along the walls until it sounded like the hounds of hell were lurking in the dark recesses, waiting to pounce. Sol shifted, claws scraping across the gravel, taking an equally slow step back.

Another step.

The growl came again, this time more quietly, as Sol continued to edge away, and Ky realized then that he was not preparing to attack, but hoping to move out of sight, to simply melt into the gloom and disappear.

That made the decision easy.

_I'm not going to let you run._

The Furaiken activated with a sharp crackle.

He didn't miss Sol's flinch, claws flexing in response—a mirror to that small, irrational part of himself that was insisting on "creature" and "threat", the part that wanted to clench around the hilt of his sword and not let go.

Wrestling that part into submission was more difficult than he would have liked; slowly lowering the Furaiken, pushing its tip into the ground, his fingers surprisingly reluctant to withdraw.

The flickering lightning brightened, spreading a circle of soft blue light that revealed what the shadows had been hiding from sight.

Sol had frozen, every muscle coiled tight like a spring.

He looked like something from an ancient, superstitious tome brought to life, and for a second, Ky couldn't help but wonder if that had truly been the case, some twisted mind purposely engineering the appearance of a demon.

Most of his body was covered in a black carapace, smooth plating merging seamlessly with equally dark skin. A lizard-like tail was curling between his legs, hands and feet curving into razor-sharp claws, jagged wings rising from his back.

There was no part that wasn't designed to inflict or withstand deadly damage, but in contrast to that living fortress stood the injuries, blood gleaming wetly against the plating, trickling in slow streams from countless wounds. Splinters of rock and iron bars were lodged in his legs and torso, his right side split open by a blow that would have torn an ordinary man in two. One of the wings was dragging limply on the ground, part of the creature's tail spike sticking out of his shoulder like a grotesque harpoon.

"Looks like that thing got you good, huh," Ky said softly, trying to assess the extent of the damage and wondering where one was supposed set the "badly hurt" mark for Gears. Here seemed like a pretty good place to start. "I've got a kit here. It probably won't do much, but… let me help you."

There was no reply, and not for the first time, he had to wonder whether Sol could even answer him like this.

It seemed so pitiful that the only thing he had to rely on was information about the enemy—one who still looked human by design, and one whose words were recorded only in legends. At least, Sol was staying put, those red eyes glaring at him from underneath the bony ridge… studying him, weighing him.

"I don't want to fight you."

Leaving the Furaiken behind, he came closer, measured step after measured step.

He'd never pictured himself pleading with Sol, of all people, but there was little else he could do if he didn't want it to end with one or both of them dead. At this rate, it would sooner be Sol than him, from the way he was struggling to hold himself upright, his wounded leg trying to buckle under the strain.

"Just…"

Another growl came as he approached, the healthy wing rising like a bird of prey's, the injured one twisting in the folds of skin with a sickening crunch.

"…It doesn't matter what I say, does it." Ky shrugged helplessly. "I can't promise you anything you'll believe, and I can't give you any other guarantee except that my sword is over there, and I'm all the way over here."

Again, there was no answer, just the soft pitter-pat of the blood, pooling on the ground in ever-widening puddles.

"_Please_."

* * *

Getting involved with the Order had posed a certain risk.

When Kliff had first approached him for help, Sol had carefully weighed his options. He preferred working alone. Organizations had the tendency to draw in all the idiocy, the prejudices, the incompetence, working on a collective IQ that was barely above room temperature. And the church? That had seemed like a hoot. As if the 20th century hadn't taught anyone anything about holy wars.

But working on his own hadn't exactly gotten him anywhere. Every place was a ruin or a battlefield, no way for him to find what he was looking for, no way to weed out the root of the problem. And there had been something else, too—the certain feeling that the old man might've had an inkling about _whom_ he was asking, but was willing to take the chance anyway, because there was no other choice.

This way, they both got what they wanted.

Hiding in plain sight was easier than it should have been because Kliff was insane and didn't care, and the soldiers were content not to ask any questions of the man clambering out of a Gear's jaws without so much as a scratch, if he was the reason they would live to see another day.

The kid would have been a problem because he was smart and not afraid of death, but he was a type Sol knew very well—black and white was all his world consisted of, and what didn't suit his conceptions of reality couldn't be true.

Now, Sol could even admit that a part of him hadn't been serious about this tightrope act, a part of him _had_ seen it as a game to test how far he could go, had taken pleasure in tempting fate and getting away with it every time.

_That's just like you, though. Always playing with fire, and being surprised when it blows up in your face. Don't tell me you've /forgotten/ what happened the last time._

Whatever he might have been able to convince the kid of before was meaningless, wasted; he only owed it to shock that Ky wasn't already trying to slice him to ribbons.

That left him a precious few seconds to try and get himself out of this mess.

With his body protesting just at being made to stand, he wouldn't been able to outrun Ky, and even if he managed that, there would be no way of evading the hundreds of soldiers aboveground. There was only one way to buy enough time to rest and search for the limiter, only one way to ensure his escape.

_Oh yes, go ahead. What an efficient solution. You wouldn't even have to lie about it. These things happen in a war, after all. Who knows, with a bit of time, you might even forget the look on his face, when he pays for /your/ mistake—_

The snap-crackle of the Furaiken almost made him jump, but the glow filling the chamber was not from an incoming lightning spell.

The kid was looking calm, almost unfazed, and Sol was half-wondering whether the shock had gotten to him harder than he'd thought, when Ky simply stuck the sword in the ground, pushing the entire situation even further into the realm of the unreal.

_Is he mad?_

There should have been fury, betrayal, hatred, _anything_, but not—

"Please."

The word crashed through his thoughts with the force of a tank, its sheer absurdity scattering his inner argument.

"…You…"

Ky didn't even flinch at his voice, a look of elation spreading across his face. "So you do understand me! Could you come over here, please? I'll need some more light if I want to get all these things out of you."

"…_What_?"

Sol was pretty sure he should have been doing something to get the hell away, or at least saying something longer than one syllable, but his mind was still stuck on the fact that they weren't just not on the same page, they were reading different scripts altogether.

"I'm—"

"Hurt, yes. At least let me take care of the shrapnel. I have no idea about Gear physiology, but I've seen you walk off all kinds of things, and if those wounds close…"

There was that.

From a pragmatic standpoint, he should have been worrying about that, as he could already feel his body beginning to repair itself, the flow of blood ebbing away despite the foreign objects stuck in his flesh. The rest of him, though, was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Ky was utterly serious, working to untie the pack with emergency supplies from his belt and apparently not seeing anything wrong with whom he was trying to patch up.

At his prolonged silence, Ky shook his head, the ghost of a smile darting across his features. "I know you said it'd be a cold day in hell before you'd rely on me, but we're underground in Moscow. I'd say that counts."

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, Sol finally shifted, approaching cautiously as if _Ky_ were the one capable of rending him limb from limb.

His steps were slow and heavy, his right side dragging oddly, which left him balancing most of his weight on the injured left leg. Wordlessly, he agreed to let himself be led to a pile of rubble, but when he came to sit down, his legs simply gave out, sending him lurching forward.

The simultaneous sound of cracking rock and bones echoed through the cavern, the impact of more than four-hundred pounds of armored Gear too much for even the slab of concrete to take.

"Are you alright?"

A frustrated snarl met his question, Sol struggling to right himself.

Sitting down, he was still almost at eye level, and this was the first time Ky managed to get a good look at his face—the layers of black, bony plating transforming his features, curving back from his skull in spines. The mark on his forehead was glowing dully, its angular etchings gleaming like the seal of a curse.

His eyes were the only familiar part, that red gaze flickering between bewilderment and fierce suspicion.

"…I'll just get started."

Again, he received no response, so Ky shrugged and went to work, tearing up sheets of gauze to apply to the gaping wound in Sol's side. It would at least staunch the blood flow for the time being, the entire torso a coagulating mess.

He had no idea what to do about possible internal injuries, broken ribs being the least of problems—he had no healing spells at his disposal, and not the slightest idea of what to look out for, anyway. All he could do was take care of what he could see, and hope the Gears' natural regenerative powers would be enough to help with the rest.

A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye, and when he turned to the shoulder, he noticed that the remains of the harpoon tail were still wriggling, squirming to dig deeper into the flesh as if driven by a mind of their own. When he reached out to pull the tail end free, Sol drew back.

"Poison." His voice was a throaty growl. "Don't cut yourself."

"Poison?" Ky exclaimed. "Is it—"

"Not lethal… for me. Affects the nervous system. Just get out of the way."

Before Ky could stop him, he reached over with his good arm, ripping the spike clean out of his shoulder. It landed somewhere to the left with a bony clunk, blood splattering everywhere.

"Are you crazy? The more vessels you damage—"

"It'll pass."

"Pass _out_, more likely," Ky returned, pressing down a bandage to stem the blood flow, and not missing the way Sol went rigid under his hands. "Hold this. It's a perforation, and you've just made it worse. I'll need to patch up your back."

The makeshift compress practically disappeared under the massive palm, claws the size of his own fingers passing by his face.

Ky straightened to tend to the back of Sol's shoulder, the strips of gauze looking pitiful against the black expanse. The skin felt foreign under his fingers, hard yet unexpectedly alive, radiating heat as if from a furnace hidden deep within. He had known it as the slow, steady warmth all fire users possessed, an inner hearth fire protecting them against any chill, but now it was almost a blaze, flaring hotly under his palm.

Pulling back, Ky turned to the wound in Sol's leg. The metal bar had pierced the flesh, a thin trickle of blood running down its length.

Cautiously, he reached down. The main artery seemed unharmed, as he was quite certain even Gears would experience significant blood loss in such a case, but he had to make sure.

"Sorry, I'll have to see whether—"

"It's fine." The other hand moved sluggishly, reaching for the metal bar.

"No way." Ky glared, pushing his arm out of the way, and pretending he couldn't feel the muscles jump at the contact. "I'm not going to watch you bleed yourself dry."

His only answer was a rumbling exhalation, a cross between a hiss and a sigh. If the mood hadn't been so tense, he might have been tempted to call it sulking, as much as Sol ever did sulk.

"We're going to do this in the way most likely to keep you conscious," he said, wadding rolls of gauze together and handing it to him. "Hold this down as soon as I get the thing out. It won't help much, but I don't see another way to do this."

Closing both hands around the rod and pulling, his efforts were only rewarded with an ugly wet noise. Sol's claws were digging into the rubble, wood and rock cracking under his hands, the bar wedged in so tightly that it made Ky fear it might have become welded to the flesh. As he shifted his weight, it began to move minutely, twisting outward like a corkscrew. All of a sudden, it gave completely, almost sending Ky stumbling backwards.

Tossing it aside, he dropped to his knees, pressing another ball of gauze to the underside of the gaping wound. Next to him, the clawed hand shifted, and he was about to chide when he realized that Sol was trying to help for once, moving to hold both makeshift patches.

Wiping his bloodied hands on his thighs, Ky undid his own belt, pulling it tight around the wound. Not the best tourniquet in the world, but it would have to do.

"I'll have to take care of the smaller things now," he said, just to fill the silence.

Although it was far from the first time he'd attempted to dress the other man's wounds, each time had warranted a heated argument. And while he was grateful that Sol had stopped being blockheaded for the moment, it was disconcerting to have him so quiet, without any snappish mockery along the lines of "nurse Kiske."

Reaching down, he pulled the boot knife from its sheath and held it out to Sol, who went rigid again.

"Fire, please. And stop tensing up so much, you'll just draw them in deeper."

"It's fine, you don't need to—"

"_Fire_," he ordered, absolutely not in the mood for any acts of stoicism. This complete disregard for one's own health and well-being was something he just couldn't understand, that Sol would sooner bleed all over himself than get basic medical attention. "I don't care that you can't get an infection, I'm not going to use an unsanitary knife on you."

Sol growled, but obeyed, a small flame kindling around the blade, dancing momentarily before dying down again.

"This might hurt a bit."

Silence again, and Sol barely even twitched as he went to work, digging out the shrapnel as gently as he could.

He didn't have nearly enough bandages to take care of everything, but it didn't matter. If he allowed his gaze to linger, Ky could observe the wounds closing slowly even as he was removing pieces of metal and stone, the flesh simply knitting itself back together, as if sewn up by an unseen hand. With a bit of time, he knew, there would be nothing left, not even a scar.

Sol's back was by far the part that was worst off—deep, tearing lacerations running down its length so broadly that there was almost no skin left. The injured wing was dangling like pieces of a broken paper screen, a pitiful counterpart to the one that was folded up, hovering so as not to touch the injuries.

Wincing, Ky gingerly began to peel away the snarled clumps of hair and scraps of fabric that were sticking to the wounds, dirt and blood mixing and hardening into an unyielding crust.

A deep sigh, the entire torso heaving. "You really don't have to be so—"

"I know. But guess what?"

"You don't care."

"Exactly."

He continued pushing hair out of the way, the knife carefully scraping away the worst of the caked mess, until his fingers brushed against something hard.

"Oh."

The headband was held fast in a sticky net of strands, its torn straps and buckles entangled so tightly that he had to end up cutting a few to extricate it properly.

It felt odd in his hand, bursts of heat coming like an irregular pulse. Spider-web cracks were fracturing the words engraved in the shell, revealing an eerie gleam shining through the gaps.

He couldn't recall ever seeing Sol without it—he fought with it, bathed with it, slept with it—and he had often wondered about this attachment to such a bizarre and unwieldy accessory, but now he thought he had a fair idea as to its purpose.

"Looks damaged," he said, passing it to Sol, noticing how carefully his fingers closed around it.

"Broken," was the grave reply.

"Can you fix it?"

Sol turned to look at him, his eyes piercing. "Don't tell me you _want_ me to fix it."

Ky blinked, taken aback by the sudden aggression in his tone. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You must've figured it out by now. It's what keeps me from turning into a slavering fanged monstrosity. You sure you want me to put my invisibility cloak back on?"

"I'm pretty sure you've never been and will never be 'invisible'," Ky said, rolling his eyes.

"Enemy in the ranks, boy scout."

"Enemy?" He frowned. "Don't be foolish."

"Cut the crap, Kiske. You know very well what a Gear in the Order could do. Don't tell me you're sentimental enough to—"

Ky's eyes narrowed. "I'd feel insulted if I thought you had any idea what you're talking about. Do you know how often I have to work around the fact that you'll do some half-baked stunt whenever it suits your fancy? That if I give you a platoon or ten, I might get a life sign, never mind a proper report, sometime between maybe and never? Do you know how many times I've had to outright _lie_ for you so you wouldn't end up court-martialed or the Lord knows what else?

"My decisions have got nothing to do with sentimentality. And if I were as big an idiot as you seem to think I am, there are enough incidents a _week_ to lock you up for the rest of your life, and none of them have even the slightest bit to do with your little 'secret'."

Taking a deep breath, Ky tried to calm down. Sol had remained silent, staring at him in a manner that could have been called dumbstruck on any other face.

"You… did make me wonder for a while," he continued, his voice growing quiet. "And then you made me wonder how you could think you were being stealthy. The possibility of you being a spy… held up all of two seconds. Not with Kliff vouching for you. Not with your track record. Then I thought… maybe you just didn't give a damn. Maybe you didn't care that I knew. Maybe it was some sort of dare. But now I find you honestly expected me not to notice."

Shaking his head, Ky resumed his work, pulling out shards as he went on.

"I had a lot of time to think, you know. Who you are, what that means for us. And by the time I was as certain as I could be without concrete proof… what was I supposed to do? It didn't change anything. You were doing your thing and somehow, that was saving lives. That's all I cared about. And I don't see how these things—" He rested a hand on the base of the healthy wing, which twitched in response. "—should change anything, either."

"You don't mean that."

"I don't?"

He wanted to smile, almost, at the decisive finality in that tone, as if any other option couldn't exist, wasn't allowed to exist. There was nothing funny about it, just a lingering kind of absurdity in the way Sol was trying to put up defenses against an attack that wasn't coming.

As if he had ever bought into the fire and brimstone sermons. As if he believed even a fraction of the things coming out of his own mouth during those speeches.

The soldiers needed speeches, needed a focus, because anything else would make them falter in a battle where the enemy wouldn't spare them. A battle where there was no room for anything but white and black, good and evil, God and devil. The simplicity was enough to comfort and strengthen a simple soldier, but not for him. That kind of myopic vision was the path to true evil.

"A Gear is a Gear." Sol had turned away, discomfited with the direction the conversation had taken.

"And you are you. What's your point?"

"You should be afraid."

"You're… really not that scary," Ky said after a moment, thoughtfully. "I mean, you're a lot less scary than the giant octopede with the triple-decker jaw that tried to eat me just now. You smell about the same at the moment, though."

"…I think I liked you better when you had no idea what sarcasm is."

A small laugh escaped him. "That's more like it."

"More like what?"

"Like you."

.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** And a few stereotypes got broken and left in the dust. :3 Many thanks to Tofu for the help. C&C is welcome and appreciated.

**Authorial Tea and Cookies:**

- Convenient timing is convenient.  
- If there is one thing that's always baffled me, it's how Ky is persistently written as unaware, reacting completely shocked and betrayed upon uncovering Sol's identity. Variety's good for the soul. XD  
- No, I will never, ever, accept that Flaming Barbecue Eva02 as Sol's true Gear form. I quite like the illustration Ishiwatari did for the 2004 artbook that depicts Sol in DI mode, so I went with that as the base. Ironically, Justice ended up being an unwilling pick-and-choose board for design ideas. *laughs*  
- I always found embedded objects to be a slight hindrance to indestructability, since they'll still be there and causing pain even if the wound closes superficially. Nothing like a bullet or random shrapnel eating its way through your body.


	10. X: Towards Equilibrium

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 10/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** Wherein Ky stumbles across a couple of new puzzles.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part X_

_._

_._

The kid was crazy. That was really the only explanation left at this point, that the kid had been hit on the head one too many times and turned out crazier than Kliff could ever be.

In the possible scenarios, the sensible scenarios, he should have been trying to get rid of Ky's blood on his hands, not sitting on his ass while Ky was fussing over his injuries and occasionally berating him for moving.

_A fatal exception error has occurred in module 'Earth logic'. Abort, retry, fail?_

Ky should have been the type to get lost in his own anal-retentiveness—getting on his case for drinking on duty, or not wearing his uniform right, for offending some esteemed personality or another and going AWOL whenever it suited him. He should have been paying attention to the details written down in the great rulebook for people with a flagpole shoved up their ass, but little beyond that. And if that anal-retentiveness got buried under the heap of shit they had to deal with on a daily basis, planning and fighting and trying to keep things together, then so much the better.

At the very least, Ky had seemed to share his opinion when it came to Gears, which was no different from everyone else's opinion—that showing any kind of mercy would mean another couple of hundred unmarked graves.

It made no sense that he should differentiate when nobody else would; Sol certainly wouldn't have tried for a friendly chat had their roles been reversed.

_Well, Mr. Pure Mentality, looks like he's ruining your curve pretty badly. How about another overhaul of the Kiske Personality Study? This makes how many now?_

He shook his head, trying to focus his attention on repairing the limiter. Everything else could wait until he had recovered enough to think of a way to deal with the consequences.

Turning it over on his knee, he groped for the depressions that would release its protective shell. It was like trying to hit grooves the size of a fingernail with a crab pincer, the tips of his claws barely able to fit underneath the rim of the casing. Something inside was running hot, and he didn't like it one bit.

Fingers lightly trailed up the junction of his wing, carefully probing for fractures, and he had to suppress a shudder.

The last time someone had touched him in that form had been forever ago, and it had involved scalpels and anesthetics. He still remembered the point when he'd been able to smell their fear, the terrified thrill at the thought of what they were creating. Ky, though, who should have known best what Gears were capable of, was touching him with no fear at all, as if he saw no difference between Sol and any other wounded soldier.

The same way it had always been, if the kid's exasperated lectures on the subject were anything to go by.

"Don't move now," Ky murmured, still cautiously smoothing over the edge. "I'll have to set that before it heals the wrong way."

He took a firm hold of the bone, lifting the entire wing into an approximation of its normal position. Sol couldn't hold back the pained hiss that escaped him—the paralyzing effect of the venom was starting to fade, and he could feel the broken pieces scraping, twisting in the folds of skin.

Ky paused, taken aback by the noise. "You okay?"

"You don't usually act like I'm going to go into convulsions."

"You don't usually come with extra appendages," Ky returned, "that are kind of… fragile-looking."

"Trust me, they're—"

A startled roar tore from his throat as Ky wrenched the pieces of bone without warning. The wing jerked violently in an attempt to escape the pain, driven by a mind of its own despite his best efforts. He thought he heard the kid hiss, could feel him hanging on tighter and using his own body weight to lodge the bones in position.

By the time he backed off again, Sol's nerves were still screaming in protest.

"Try… not to move too much now… I don't want to be forced to rebreak them," Ky panted, and it only took one glance to see the places on his arms where the wing's thorny protrusions had torn through his uniform, breaking the skin. It could have been worse, though. If the damned thing had been any healthier, the kid could have ended up having to peel himself off a wall.

Ky didn't seem too concerned with himself, at any rate, instead bending down to examine the tattered membrane, and sighing. "I have no idea what to do about this."

"Just leave it."

"Will you still be able to fly with that?"

If there was one positive thing about his current appearance, it was that his face didn't lend itself too well to 'landed fish' expressions. "…What?"

"You can do that, right? I mean, I've never seen a winged Gear that couldn't, so I just assumed…"

"Don't tell me you're honestly interested in this," Sol grunted, and resumed his struggle with the limiter.

The protective casing finally clicked open, revealing the assortment of thin wires and tiny electronics. Part of the gears had stopped turning, others grinding against them with a high-pitched whirring sound. The entire system was approaching overload by the minute.

_Lovely._

"You're the first one that thought to stop for a chat. Of course I'm curious."

As if to prove a point, the fingers suddenly came to rest on his lower spine, and he startled, the tail lashing reflexively.

"Whoa there," Ky exclaimed, and it sounded so remarkably like a thing he'd say to a nervous horse, "Sorry, but we're not done yet."

"It's fine." Easier than an apology for almost taking the kid's arm off right there, without even trying.

"You keep saying that. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't really believe you."

The fingers returned, a bit more firmly this time, wandering down on the bony ridge in an effort to determine what was a vertebra and what wasn't, removing more debris as they went.

Sol returned to his perusal of the device, trying to ignore the unpleasant sting whenever Ky pulled another fragment from his flesh. Most of the limiter's parts were designed to function independently, if necessary—with some tweaking, he should be able to get it to work again, unless…

Unless the core was damaged, then things would start looking ugly.

"…I suppose I should be glad yours doesn't come with two-foot spikes."

The amused tone pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to half-glance back at Ky, who was trying his best to keep a straight face at the sight of the tail curling under his hand, swishing back and forth in the rubble.

One of the most annoying things about the entire Gear existence was the fact that the junk heap of primitive brain structures piled underneath the more sophisticated human apparatus was a lot more alert and entirely too happy to execute basic responses to stimuli without his express consent, going so far as to give a thump of protest when Ky drew back.

"I guess nothing's broken there."

Sol stopped glaring at his own tail long enough to glare at him instead. "So glad to see you're enjoying yourself."

"Hey, it's okay," the kid said generously, his eyes shining with mirth. "You make fun of me for so many things, I'll just keep this one."

"Knock yourself out."

With a huff, Sol returned to struggling with the miniature tools strapped to the inside of the case.

Try as he might, though, it was impossible to even lift them, much less operate them, his claws unsuited for such a task. They kept grasping at nothing, clicking uselessly against each other. Growling in frustration, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to shift back long enough to fix the damn thing. The adrenaline was still pumping, all his senses hypervigilant, but he put his will to it, forcing his form to reverse.

A great spasm shook his body, muscles jerking as the Gear parts were attempting to retract, bones cracking and grinding painfully.

"What—! Stop it! What are you doing?"

The claws pushed forth again, his body refusing to accept the damaged parts.

"Stop it!"

A sudden jolt snapped through him, scattering his concentration. "What the hell—!"

Ky glared, a spark dancing between his fingertips. "You were reopening your wounds! At this rate, I won't have to bash you unconscious, you're just going to kill yourself." He got up, examining the wing in dismay. "Damn it, here we go again."

Sol braced himself against the new wave of pain as Ky went about realigning the fractured pieces again, with a little more force than strictly necessary. Once it subsided, he went back to futilely poking at the tools, pretending he couldn't see the furious glare.

The situation was entirely too reminiscent of the very first few months, when keeping control of his form for longer than a few seconds at a time had exhausted him completely, when instruments and beakers and anything not made of industrial-strength titanium would effortlessly shatter in his grasp.

It had been worse than the period of half-delirious madness that preceded it. By then, his mind had been perfectly clear and ready to catalogue his own failures right down to the tiniest detail, ready to remind him that he didn't have time, that he couldn't afford it, that things were marching to hell in a hand basket while he was hiding in his little cave trying to learn how to touch things again.

He'd never wanted to recall that feeling of utter helplessness, with his own body as his worst enemy. Injured as he was now, it would take too long before he could safely chance shifting back again.

A hand came to rest on his knee.

"You know…" Ky said, "If you tell me what to do… I've got opposable thumbs. You could go back to being uselessly proud in twenty minutes."

* * *

Silence.

That wary stare was back full force, searching his face for any hint of treachery. It stung a little to think that Sol was still expecting some kind of betrayal, but the rest of him was well aware that it was a foolish sentiment. This had little to do with him.

Even though he saw no difference between the appearance of the human and the Gear, Sol obviously did, and asking him to hand over that precious device was likely asking too much. He could understand that, at least to a degree, had been powerless too often not to understand, but right now, they were running out of time.

"I promise I won't run off with it and sell it on the black market," he ventured, trying his best to keep this light, keep this casual, just another tricky situation in a long series of tricky situations.

Something flashed in those eyes, and Ky thought for a moment that if he could have, Sol would have made a face.

"…You're such a goody-two-shoes, you wouldn't even know where to find a black market," he finally grumbled, picking up the headband and holding it out to him.

Carefully accepting the dismantled device, Ky moved to sit down beside him. It was unlike anything he had seen before, a virtual labyrinth of miniature electronics whose purpose he couldn't even begin to guess, coils and wires looping around and over each other, thin transparent tubes that looked like they might be transporting some sort of liquid coolant. He was quite sure the R&D division would be having a field day with this.

At his side, Sol shifted, trying to scoot away.

"Stay put, I'll need some more light," Ky murmured, bridging the gap again, slowly freeing the small tools from their hold. "And you'll have to tell me when things are about to explode in my face."

A huff, and then a large black palm was thrust into his field of vision, a flame igniting in its center, casting the claws in stark relief.

"Thank you."

Taking a deep breath, Sol leaned closer. "Pull out the cables on both sides of the central unit, but don't cut them."

"Alright."

This was easier said than done, since these cables were almost as thin as threads, tangled together, each of them stuck in its own individual plug. It made Ky dearly wish for a magnifying glass. Grabbing onto them with the pair of miniature pliers, he could hardly feel when he caught them, pulling gently so as not to rip them by accident.

He found himself trying to picture Sol as he proceeded with the delicate operation, his bulky frame bent over a worktable like an antique watchmaker, his big hands operating on his creation with utmost care. The mental image was intriguing and silly at the same time, and he had to suppress a smile.

Finally, with the last wire freed, the parts stopped their frenetic grinding, dying down with a slow hum.

"Now lift the first layer out."

"All of it?"

Sol nodded. "Yes. It comes in blocks, don't worry."

"How do I know where to pull?" Ky asked, squinting at the seamless clockwork.

"There are ten in total. They connect horizontally, held by four screws each."

"Okay…"

Silence fell as he kept on working, the screwdriver feeling like a twig in his hand. The screws themselves were even smaller, and he had to be careful pulling them out, placing them in Sol's free hand. Gear vision or no, they would never be able to find those among the debris again.

"The second block on the right is stuck… so's the third and fourth. They look pretty bad, too." He poked at the parts.

"Doesn't matter. Pull them out by force."

"Looks like they're melted…"

"Getting your skull attended to by a vise will do that. Just toss them out."

"Are you sure? These don't look like they'd be easy to come by…"

"I can make repairs," Sol assured him, in the kind of tone that implied he had managed to do so before and knew how to do so again.

"If you say so…" Ky conceded, returning to his task.

Removing the last piece revealed another layer of electronics, and a spindle-shaped stone held in a thin wire frame, radiating white-hot light. Ky could sense its power even from a distance, and knew without a doubt that this was responsible for the strange current he had sensed earlier. "Is that…?"

"So you can feel it. Crystallized magic."

"Are you kidding? That stuff is almost impossible to manufacture!"

Squinting against the brightness, Ky was almost certain that he could make out the stone's structure, a nebulous gas pulsing softly beneath the translucent surface. He had never held one in hand, but he knew the price they went for, a handful of the stones easily costing a small country's annual budget. Sol couldn't possibly have scrounged up enough money to purchase one.

"…I hear they're floating Zepp with it, amongst other things. One of this size could probably operate a small-scale airship."

"It was calibrated for only one purpose," Sol said simply. "Pull it out, but don't touch it with your hands."

"Isn't that dangerous? They say long-term exposure will alter the genetic structure. If you're wearing that…" Ky trailed off, using the pliers to gingerly remove the crystal, and held it out to Sol for inspection.

A snort. "Hell, no. That rumor's been around since the time they still thought about mass production. But that's all it is. A rumor."

"You suspect Zepp had something to do with it?"

Sol shrugged, peering at the crystal. Whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it because he leaned back.

"Put it back in. And who knows? That stuff does mess with you, but not like they say. People without magic… tend to go bonkers after a while. Upsets their energy balance. It's like ultrasound—they can't process it, but constant exposure drives them nuts. For people like you… it's basically just a booster pack."

Ky looked at him, not sure whether to be more amazed at the information or the change in Sol. He could count the times Sol had been willing to divulge his knowledge on the fingers of both hands. Although he adamantly pretended to be a thoughtless brute, Ky _had_ seen him tinkering with things on occasion, fixing weaponry that would have required repairs from a specialist, scoffing at experimental devices with the impatience of an old hand for incompetent rookies. There was a lot more to this than Sol's simple claim of not wanting to be responsible for anything, of that he was certain.

"…How can you be so sure about that?"

"How long have you had that fancy toothpick now?"

"You don't mean—?"

"What, you've never thought about what's powering it?"

Ky's eyes strayed over to where the Furaiken was stuck in the ground, small arcs of lightning creeping up and down the length of its blade. Of course he had thought about it, about why such a sword would be a "holy relic", when it was clearly a manmade weapon.

Of course he had been curious about its workings, if only to know what to do if the weapon somehow got damaged in battle. His inquiries, however, had been met with stony silence, and as with so many other things, there had never really been a choice. It did what he needed it to do, and he had to be grateful that they had given it to him without much protest. That was all that had mattered.

Until now.

Any records concerning the Furaiken, as far as they existed, were so classified that even Kliff had no access to them, and not for lack of trying. All they'd been able to dig up was a thin folder, its contents so censored as to be nearly unreadable. No specifications, no production date, no manufacturer. All he was left with was the certainty that the sword couldn't possibly have been crafted by anyone in the Order.

And now… it wasn't that he had trouble envisioning Sol shaking down some hapless R&D project manager for spare information, it was that he was quite certain there was nothing _to_ shake out of them.

_For every puzzle I solve, you just have to give me a new one. I'm not sure I want to consider the possibilities for this one just yet._

"…No questions?"

"I'd be lying if I said no," Ky admitted, glancing from the Furaiken to the headband in his lap, and finally to Sol. "I do want to ask. But if I did, would you answer?"

There was no reply, and he knew then that it was useless to prod further. At another time, he might have thought it worth an argument, but not now, when he held the barest increment of trust in his hands, and time was a precious commodity that he couldn't afford to waste over a senseless squabble.

"Yeah, I thought so. So I'm just going to hope you'll tell me the important stuff before it gets us killed. Business as usual."

"You're normally such a nuisance about these things."

"I'm a nuisance when you treat me like I wouldn't understand what's going on in your fancy head. Or when you talk to me in a language unknown to man, because you think that way, I won't notice if you insult me. Well, I'm getting better at figuring these things out. I don't get everything yet, but I _will_, one day."

Sol shook his head. "You are just about the most annoyingly persistent brat in the universe."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Ky tilted his head, stomping out that tiny spark of pride. "What next?"

Although the face remained almost unchanged, the eyes were speaking volumes. "Bend wires number two, three and four holding the crystal. Should be enough to stop the power flow to the damaged blocks for the time being. Then replace the intact blocks and reconnect them."

"Alright. Will it still work with so many pieces missing?"

Sol shrugged. "We'll see."

Putting the pieces back into place was a little faster this time around, as his hands had gotten somewhat used to working with the tiny instruments. He noticed Sol tensing the more screws disappeared from his hand, the more of the cables were guided back into their sockets.

Ky couldn't gauge whether the damage done to the headband was extensive or not, but all the same, the possibility that those makeshift repairs wouldn't be enough seemed very real. There was only so much he could do to protect Sol's secret—getting him out of the city in this form was simply impossible, and for the first time, he found himself wanting to avoid thinking about the consequences, even though he should have. He always did, no matter how unpleasant they might be.

_Oh, but this is personal now, isn't it? That's what makes it different. Isn't it funny, how little it takes…_

It was really stupid, after all this time of not having to be truly concerned for Sol's life. Absurd, and more than a little selfish, when Sol had so much more reason to worry.

"Hey…" came the rumble, close to his ear. "Wrong plug."

He glanced down, realizing that he had been about to connect a mismatched cable, and shook his head. "…Sorry."

Guiding the last cable into the plug, the gears started turning again with a soft mechanical whirr.

"So…" he murmured, lowering the lid until it clicked into place. "Is this it?"

"Didn't go into meltdown. That's always a good sign."

"How are your wounds?"

Sol rotated his shoulders experimentally. "Should be fine."

"Fine as in 'I am a hardass' or fine as in—"

In lieu of a reply, the wings rose, giving an exasperated flap before settling back down.

"Okay, got it," Ky said, handing over the headband.

Suddenly, Sol's form began to shiver like something blurring out of focus. His entire appearance was twisting, shrinking, wings and tail retreating into his back, black plating simply melting back into his body until all that was left was a familiar figure, shaking and drenched in sweat.

Slowly, two human hands reached up, tying the headband firmly back into place.

Red eyes turned to look at him, the perpetually disgruntled expression settling on his features, and Ky couldn't hold back a smile.

"Welcome back."

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** Something tells it's pretty obvious where I had the most fun. *laughs* Thanks goes to **Tofu** for her vigilance. As usual, C&C is welcome and appreciated.

Notes for the Hard-to-Entertain:  
- We still have our lizard brains. Sol's is just a lot more awake. XD  
- I invoke artistic license for anything about the fancy gadgets.  
- You know the move little birds do when they're annoyed? The way they puff up all stiffly and shake their wings out? Yeah. That move.


	11. XI: TakeOff

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 11/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** Speedy recovery.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part XI_

_._

_._

It was really hard to come up with a sarcastic reply when the kid was giving him that smile.

Nothing was as disarming as sincerity, and Sol was forced to admit that despite everything, he had been waiting for the second shoe to drop, for some kind of ulterior motive to manifest itself. This was a world were saints were either idiots or liars—he had been around, after all, to watch them preach and die, or preach and run, their talks of kindness and doing good only holding up as long as they had something to exploit.

Once upon a time, he'd been dumb enough to be lured into believing in something, and had to find out the hard way that the only way not to end up getting stabbed in the back was to anticipate the worst in any person he met. Not the most joyful principle to live by, perhaps, but certainly the most sane.

_I don't remember anyone who would've looked a monster in the eye and said 'welcome back', though._

"Is that thing running alright?" Ky's question drew him back to the present, and he nodded curtly.

"…It'll be enough for the time being."

The limiter had suffered, of course, requiring a lot more conscious effort on his part to maintain his appearance. For the moment, though, the core seemed stable enough.

Sol rose, the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh clattering to the ground. He'd almost forgotten that the kid had put his belt there. Beneath the flecks of blood, the engraved word was winking up at him, taunting him with its simplicity.

Shaking his head, he stepped over it and crossed to where the Furaiken was resting, the dirt crunching under his bare feet. Behind him, the kid had knelt down, tying the belt back around his waist. He didn't even bother to wipe off the stains, half his uniform streaked with Sol's blood.

"Let's get out of here." Sol pulled the weapon from the ground and tossed it back to Ky, who caught it with one hand.

"That… won't be easy." Ky turned his gaze to the distant ceiling, faint light streaming through its cracks. "Your fight caused a number of cave-ins on the way. Blasting through could collapse the entire tunnel system on top of us. But… there's some kind of construction platform above. We could get out through there… provided we find some way to climb up there first, of course."

"No time for that," Sol said, gauging the distance to the opening. Even if they were to climb the mounds of debris, they still wouldn't manage to reach the structure. "At this rate, we'll end up gassed like rats in a hole."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Sol reached up to adjust the limiter. "Might as well… cat's out of the bag, and all that."

Ky's surprised gasp got lost in the rush of the wings ripping free, expanding to their full length once again.

"Hey, wait a second, are you—?"

"If you want to climb, be my guest."

"No, but—"

Without further ado, Sol grabbed him around the waist, and kicked off in a cloud of dust.

Something in him was delighting in the utter foolishness of it all, the rush of air, the startled shout ringing in his ears and the near strangle-hold on his neck, the fact that he had finally managed to throw the kid off balance.

The rest of him was concentrating on shutting out his body's protests, the barely healed places threatening to fail him. The landing took him two tries and was a lot less graceful than he would have liked, sending both of them sprawling onto the platform.

"…Ow," Ky finally managed, still trying to regain his breath as the metal grating shivered to a stop beneath their weight, staring up at him with huge eyes. "You show-off!"

"You make a terrible Lois Lane, kid."

"I have no idea who the hell that is," Ky panted, "but I have the feeling once I find out, I'll have to feed you your teeth."

"Heh, you're welcome to try."

It felt natural to go back to this, back to teasing and ruffling the kid's feathers, watching him bounce between wide-eyed incredulity and furious glares. Better than the doubt and discomfort of the past few hours, trapped in a situation beyond his control, entirely dependant on another's kindness.

_Well, there /was/ that other option, but that idea's best put in the box of things we don't like to think about…_

He had never liked hemming and hawing his way through decisions, anyway. If Ky could live with a calculated risk, there was no reason why he couldn't return the favor, at least for the time being. No choice, in fact, unless he wanted to return to square one with even more problems than he'd started out with, but he hated feeling like he was forced to do things.

The ensuing silence was broken by a loud crackle. "…mmander? Commander?"

For a second, they both stared at each other, blinking at the unexpected voice.

"You might want to answer that," Sol pointed out eventually.

"Commander? Do …ou read? Comm…der!" The voice was almost frantic.

Ky reached down, unhooking the radio headpiece from his belt. "Kiske here."

"Oh! Oh, thank God! We thought—!"

More crackling, accompanied by the shrill screech of a microphone being yanked away, before the voice on the other end was replaced by Andreyev's calmer tone. "We've got a warning from the bombardment commando, sir—they'll be arriving in twenty minutes and refuse to delay the dropping."

"What's your status?"

"Ships are pulling out as we speak. I can only give you rough estimates for the moment, but it's looking good. Recovery from all outlined locations was successful, sir."

Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Ky allowed himself a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You've done well."

"Thank you, sir. Is everything alright? We can't seem to get clear readings on your coordinates. Is Sir Badguy with you?"

"You could… say that. Get off," Ky bit out, shoving at his shoulder, and Sol decided to let him go.

"…Pardon?"

"We're underground, Lieutenant. I can't tell you our exact position, but we'll be up shortly."

"We'll confirm your location as we go, then. I assume you have no objections against a lift, sir?"

Ky smiled, clambering to his feet. "None whatsoever."

"Understood. We'll be there ASAP. Please prepare for a rough take-off; we've got company."

The line went dead.

Sol adjusted the limiter again, the wings pulling back into his flesh with a wet sound, and turned to Ky, who was already halfway up the ladder. "No fun until all the odds are stacked against us, huh?"

"…Actually, I could do with a really boring day for a change."

* * *

They emerged in the shade of a half-destroyed overhang, part of what might have been scheduled to become a subway station ages ago, but was long since deprived of its purpose. The buildings surrounding the street were in the same condition, blackened and ruined, ash and dust whipping through the air like snow.

Everything was so quiet that the sudden crackle of the radio boomed like an explosion.

"Coordinates confirmed, sir. We're approaching from—" A loud noise interrupted the operator, followed by a bout of swearing in Russian, before Andreyev took over the line again. "This goddamn thing's tailgating us! Please get ready, Commander. This might get rough."

"Lieutenant—!" Ky didn't get further, because Sol's hand reached around him, clamping his mouth shut. Bewildered, he threw a sideways glance at Sol, who had gone very still. And then, he heard it, too, a low, keening cry, accompanied by the buzzing sound of giant insect wings.

A moment later, the enormous bulk of a dragonfly was gliding past them, its underbelly nearly skimming the street. It was low enough that its many eyes could easily peer beneath the overhang, but either it didn't notice them, or it simply didn't care—first the head passing by, then the body, its wings loud like rotor blades, the swaying tail knocking the overhang out of the way almost by accident.

Ky flinched as the roof was torn away, collapsing behind them in a heap. As the Gear passed down the street, the hand slowly slid away from his mouth.

"Did it miss us?"

"No." Sol's voice was grim. "It's just got bigger fish to fry."

Ky didn't even need to ask, only needed to follow his line of sight to a bright silver shape spiraling towards the ground, desperately trying to shake off a larger shadow in pursuit.

As they watched, a ray gun blast finally hit its mark, ripping into the creature's side. Crippled and smoldering, it fell out of the sky, distracting the approaching dragonfly momentarily—its body curled in on itself, the many pointed legs sinking into the smaller Gear. As the airship zoomed past, the dragonfly paused before letting go of its prey, resuming its chase.

"Oh holy—!" a voice burst from the radio.

"There's another one!"

"Main cannon down, sub-cannons scramming!"

"We can't fire, we'll get blown to smithereens if we do!"

"Pull out, we can't—!"

"Negative. Take her down, helmsman."

"Sir—!"

"_Do it_!"

Amidst the shouting, the ship continued its mad descent into the street below, the Gear still hot on its tail.

"…How well can you aim?" Ky murmured.

"Not well enough if they keep jerking around like this. They won't be able to pull up fast enough."

"Then we'll have to make them stay out of the way." Ky stepped out into the street, the Furaiken already simmering in his hand. "Lieutenant! Can your ship stand missing two right-wing propellers?"

A small pause, followed by an audible intake of breath. "…Let's find out."

"…On my signal."

The power was already flowing towards his outstretched hand, gathering in his palm until it felt like his entire arm was burning up. The magic was pushing against the constraints of his body, demanding to be released, but he refused, his gaze set on the two approaching shapes, one looming behind the other.

"_Now!_"

On cue, the ship swerved abruptly to the side. Its right wing rammed into the ruins lining the street, tearing through the walls.

With a quick prayer, Ky let go of the spell.

A white-hot spear of lightning went hurtling down the street, a fireball only a split-second behind. The dragonfly had no time to react, the fury of the magic colliding with its side in a large epxlosion.

Ky staggered as loud cheering broke out over the radio, the newly wingless creature plowing into the row of buildings in the ship's wake. A hand grabbed his arm, helping him to keep his balance as the airship slowed its approach, opening its cargo hold.

"They're not serious about this," he muttered weakly, already resigned to the fact that this was going to hurt. A lot.

"Probably can't risk a landing anymore."

"That's crazy."

"No risk, no fun."

A smirk, before he was lifted again like a rag doll, Sol throwing both of them into the oncoming maw.

* * *

For a moment, the world seemed to lose all sound.

There should have been something—the engines screaming, the debris scattering, the wind rushing past his ears—but he could hear only silence. Time slowed almost to the point where he could feel his lungs expanding to draw a breath, could feel the fingers digging into his back, the jerk as he was twisted around in mid-air—

The impact jarred the world into focus again, time speeding back up as they plowed across the floor of the cargo hold, rolling a few times before coming to a standstill.

"…Ow," Sol finally ventured from underneath, voice muffled by his neck.

"…You," Ky breathed, trying to get his bearings, slowly realizing that they were still alive and mostly whole. "You're insane. Stir-crazy."

"That surprises you how, exactly?"

Ky lifted his head to observe the Furaiken, its blade all too close to their sides, and sighed. "It's a miracle you didn't skewer us both."

"Psh. No gratitude."

"I'd be grateful for a warning," he shot back, trying to disentangle himself and shaking off the dizziness, various parts of his body notifying him that they very much minded being made to move right now.

Sol groaned, sat up and popped his dislocated shoulder back into place.

"Good lord," Ky murmured, inadvertently catching a good look of the new patchwork of gashes and bruises blossoming on his back. "You're a mess. "

"I think I'll live."

"I love how this would be followed by accusations of masochism if I were to say the same, but somehow it's perfectly alright for you. Do the words 'double standard' mean anything to you?"

Sol twitched when he tried to brush away the remnants of his uniform. "Stop that."

"Didn't we already do this?"

The beeping of the intercom cut off Sol's retort, the shrill little sound demanding immediate attention.

"Welcome aboard, Commander," Andreyev's voice sounded tinny from the speaker on the wall, but his relief was audible even from the small device. "My apologies for the… unconventional boarding. We'll be arriving back at main base in about four hours—they are setting up defenses against possible fallout as we speak. I've arranged for copies of all transmissions to be taken to the captain's cabin." A small, uncertain pause. "Do you require any assistance, sir?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant, we're fine. I'll be up shortly."

The intercom clicked off, and Ky sighed, clambering to his feet and offering a hand to Sol, who naturally refused to acknowledge it. "Let's go get you patched up." He glanced down. "…And find you some pants."

Behind them, the last yellow sliver of evening sky was swallowed by the cargo bay slamming closed. The airship continued to climb, the hull muffling the noise of the first bombs going off, spreading their deadly veil over the ruined city.

.

.

.

.

-TBC-

**A/N:** Whew, and we're almost done. XD Next up will be the final chapter, so I hope to see you there. Anyway, C&C is welcome and appreciated, as usual. Thanks goes to **Tofu** for betaing.

Authorial Post-Its:  
- From an aerodynamic standpoint, Sol should be completely unable to lift off due to sheer body mass, but whee. Gear magic! (And come on, like I was going to pass this up. XD)  
- If action movies can ignore the laws of physics, so can I.  
- Well, tails need room and all. XD


	12. XII: Epilogue — Sleep While I Drive

**Title:** Three Degrees to the Right  
**Fandom:** Guilty Gear  
**Part:** 12/12  
**Characters:** Sol, Ky  
**Rating:** PG-15  
**Warnings:** violence

**Notes:** Drawing a breath at dusk.

.

.

.

**Three Degrees to the Right**  
_Part XII_

_._

_.  
_

"—never in my whole life have I been so betrayed! To think a knight of the Holy Order would…! Do you have any idea, even the _faintest_—"

The man's voice was cracking as he continued to rant, approaching a state of near hysterical rage. It was bouncing off the walls of the cabin, ringing through the room despite the speakers being set to 'low', and although he had never met the head of the Subcommittee in person, Sol could picture him all too easily; purple-faced and raving in his perfect, safe, stylishly furnished office thousands of miles away, as if all this were some kind of personal offense designed to humiliate and wound him.

As if the kid owed him. Owed any of them anything at all.

"—assure you, every single one involved _will_ be held responsible! This is treason! High treason! You of all people—!"

"Everyone involved was acting under my direct orders. This entire operation is my responsibility, and mine alone."

It was the first time Ky had spoken ever since the call had come through, just sitting at his desk and letting the stream of accusations wash over him without response. Sol had expected him to take it harder, being stabbed in the back by the very organization he was devoting his life to, but he seemed barely moved at all, as if he had simply not expected any better.

"Oh, you will answer for your crimes, Commander! Destruction of military property! Unlawful appropriation of resources! Insubordination! You will answer before an official inquiry, and I assure you not even Undersn will be able to save—"

Sol couldn't hold back a snort.

It just seemed incredibly funny that the guy thought this would be the first time the kid had disregarded orders; hell, anyone in the army with enough rank and brain to recognize when a plan was complete and total shit did, considering what they had to work with. When you were sitting in a pit surrounded by man-eating nightmares, there was no time to be thinking about protocol and decorum.

The entire thing just hinged on not letting the higher-ups know about it.

And trying to court-martial the very person they had promoted as the Savior Descended, the rising star of hope for the people to turn to, et cetera et cetera, the whole nine yards of pretentious religious bullshit… was more than just a little laughable.

Despite that, Sol wouldn't have been surprised if Grantz tried to make good on it. He knew that ilk, made up of petty vindictiveness, too fixated on himself to realize what was going on right before his eyes.

"I am fully prepared to face the consequences."

"Your acceptance of your punishment won't save your subordinates, Kiske."

Grantz was winding down now that he had spoken his intent, obviously under the impression that it had struck a nerve, and intending to drive it in deeper. "Not only did they fail to do their duty of removing you from command, but I have it on good authority that some had already led a failed mutiny well before your arrival. They will be made to answer just like you, Commander, and believe me, just because you might have friends willing to put in a good word for you, doesn't mean that _they_ do."

In his seat, Ky stiffened, his hands clenching into fists. "These men and women risked their lives to do what they thought was right—to fulfill their oath. They have pledged to save innocents, and so they did. You would find them guilty for upholding the highest principle of the Holy Order, _sir_?"

"Do not try to argue semantics with me, Kiske. The Order was created for the good of all, not for a bunch of soldiers to use as they please, and sentimentally risk everything we fought for."

"'We', indeed," Sol growled, so low that the microphone didn't pick it up. Part of the standard rhetoric of a politician who had never been forced to wield a weapon or run for his life, but that didn't make him want to wring the guy's neck any less.

"How many people…" Ky didn't even seem to have heard, his head bowed and his voice dangerously quiet. "How many people does it take… before it becomes wrong?"

"What?"

"I would like to know where 'a few' ends and 'all' begins by your definition, Minister Grantz. Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? How many people does it take?"

"I'm warning you, Kiske. We can get your subordinates in much more trouble than you would like. Demotion, pay cuts… it doesn't have to end there. But that's entirely up to how you choose your next words."

"Fifteen thousand."

"You—"

"Fifteen thousand three-hundred and seventy-six. That's how many people we have been able to rescue, including ninety-four of our own soldiers stationed at Moscow. Several dozens might not survive the night. You won't find one among them who hasn't lost someone; a sibling, or a parent, or a child. I am sure… that they are simply _dying_ to know that you consider them expendable."

"You wouldn't dare, Kiske."

"I don't even have to, Minister. How will you keep this grand trial a secret from the public? How will you explain to them that you sentenced more than fifteen thousand people to be _eradicated_, and would punish those who sought to prevent it?"

The other end of the line had become silent.

"Our world has grown small. The people feel close to each other. They don't see a difference between themselves and others. What has happened in Moscow can happen anywhere else. If you are willing to forsake any of them, what guarantee do the others have that they won't be next? How will you keep their faith, Minister?"

An audible intake of breath. "…You haven't heard the last of me, of that I assure you."

The line went dead.

Heaving a deep sigh, Ky leaned back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. Slowly, the flush of anger drained from his cheeks, leaving him looking pale and tired, more worn out from the debate than the actual hardships of battle.

"You could always do a coup and start your own army."

The kid gave a startled laugh, rubbing at his eyes. "When did you get in here?"

"What, you mean you really didn't notice?"

"I was trying to think calm thoughts. And not destroy the phone." He pressed a button to close the transmission, the desk lamp dimming to a soft glow.

"One of these days," Sol said, pushing away from the door, "that self-restraint of yours is going to make you snap."

The barest hint of a smile answered him. "Don't worry. I can always beat you up for stress relief."

"So glad you finally recognize my noble efforts."

"They're a tad difficult to ignore…" Ky trailed off, his brow creasing again, the bout of humor evaporating in the heavy atmosphere.

Under normal circumstances, Sol might have tried to provoke him into a three out of five, work off some steam, but not now, when neither of them was at their best and they would have to deal with the Moscow fallout in a few hours.

It wasn't like he was planning on playing the part of agony aunt—not that the kid actually _would_ spill the beans on his own, stubborn as he was. But stubbornness only got a man so far, and the entire mess was grating on Ky's sense of justice and ethics far more than he was letting on.

"You're not going to do it?" Sol asked eventually, stepping closer.

"I… want to. Believe me, I want to. A part of me would like nothing more than to go down there and tell them exactly how their faith has been betrayed. So many people needlessly dead, sacrificed to the fear and indifference of a handful of men. These people downstairs, they'd deserve to know. Everyone… deserves to know."

Ky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But I can't. No matter how much it would be the right thing to do… If they don't figure it out by themselves, I can't tell them. We're already fighting a war on two fronts."

"Gears and assholes?"

Ky made a noise that was more a huff than a chuckle, a spark momentarily lighting in his eyes before dying again. "Something like that. I can't risk opening a third. In fact, if anything happens, I'll have to do everything I can to renew their faith in the Order. This world is going crazy. If what we have now… that tiny, tenuous bit of stability that makes everyone buck up and work together… if that is destroyed, I don't want to imagine what would happen."

He paused. "I hope the Committee come to their senses and realize that. This isn't just to save my men from trouble. This most certainly isn't about me, although they think otherwise. It's for all of us. But if they do end up demoting me—"

"They won't," Sol replied, although a part of him took great pleasure in envisioning the spectacle of Ky Kiske, stripped of rank and honor, marching out the gates of Headquarters with more than half the army packing up to follow suit, no questions asked. "There'd be riots."

"_If_ it happens, I'll find ways to continue. I won't let foolishness and fear ruin our future."

"You know, in case you ever wonder why I periodically want to rearrange your face, that stupid martyr bullshit would be a good reason to start," Sol growled, trying to dispel the nagging memory of an idiot who had once said nearly the same thing, in a much less noble context.

That earned him a dark look. "I'm not a martyr, and it's _not_—"

"Yeah, yeah. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a bunch of other people who like seeing this world go to shit as little as you do. …Well, more than it already is, anyway." He tilted his head, studying the ceiling. "The guys at the top can't risk bad publicity for the Order. Just think of the headlines. 'Savior of Humanity Dishonorably Discharged… For Saving People.'"

Ky grimaced at the title, the idea obviously still a sore spot for him. Hell, anyone happy to be heralded as a post-apocalyptic messiah in this day and age would've had to be insane. Sol shrugged. "It's nuts. Same if they decide to go for the other end of the food chain. The idiot can talk big, but they won't go through with it."

Ky blinked, his eyes reddened from rubbing. "Encouragement, from you? Clearly, I'm hallucinating this conversation."

"The part of the jaded cynic doesn't suit you so much, kid. You're better at dispensing the shiny rays of bunnies and rainbows."

The smallest of smiles answered him. "Thank you."

Sol merely made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.

"I do mean it. Thanks."

"Right. I got you the first time." These constant iterations of gratitude were making him twitchy. Usually, it was just that he hated being thought of as charitable, but now… owing something to someone was a novel concept, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

Ky was shuffling papers, organizing an already organized desk. "Oh, here." He reached out, handing a stack to Sol. "The draft."

"Huh?"

"The draft of the report that's going back to Headquarters. Isn't that why you're here?"

Sol blinked, taken aback by the offer.

"…Nah," he said after a moment's consideration, resting the pages on his thigh. If the kid had truly wanted to turn him in, he would have had about a hundred chances between the tunnels and now. "I hate reading through that officialese."

"I still need your account, anyway. Preferably the version where I will be left with more than just 'is' after editing the swearing."

"No fun, kid. No fun at all. Did you even take a break before writing this thing?"

"I was lucky to get it done before the Subcommittee got through."

"You're unbelievable," Sol said, leafing through the pages filled with tiny, meticulous handwriting. "Is there anything you _don't_ do?"

Ky paused, considering. "…Tapdance. Kliff never found the shoes to teach me."

"Hearing you make jokes is just too weird."

There was no reply, Ky rising from his seat and starting to undo the latches on his arm guards instead. "We still have a while until the checkpoint, right?"

"Two hours, maybe a bit more."

"That much? That's funny. I thought more time had passed."

"That's because talking to morons makes every minute seem like an eternity," Sol pointed out, which earned him a snort.

"Alright, then." Ky slipped off the coat, folding it over the back of the chair. "I'll try to get a few minutes before we arrive for clean-up."

"And here I thought you'd have to be manually prevented from running down there to heal the wounded and console the traumatized or something."

Not that he wasn't glad to see the kid's sense of self-preservation winning this one, since he was showing all the signs of a person in the first stages of magical drain—paleness, headache, shivers. Downing that large-class had most likely put a serious dent in his reserves.

"There's… I'd just get angry. I won't be of any use if I'm angry." The chest armor came off, its latches clinking softly, and Ky moved to curl up on the bed without even taking off his boots.

Somehow, he seemed so much smaller out of uniform, without the calm authority he was radiating every minute of the day, no matter the situation. A child with more responsibility than most men could handle, and for all his needling, it was moments like this that drove the fact so obviously, uncomfortably home.

"Wake me up in thirty minutes?"

"Hrm."

They both knew he wasn't going to do it, that Ky would have to set the alarm if he really wanted to wake up on time. There was nothing more to do right now, no way to prepare better than they already were—but this was the only way the kid was able to deal with allowing himself a bit of extra shut-eye, by blaming it on him.

Sighing, Sol put the papers down and trudged over to the bed, the only available surface not stacked with reports awaiting processing. Several places on his body twinged in protest when he slumped down on the mattress, reminding him that things were not quite back to normal yet, the new flesh still tender and raw.

"You okay?"

"In case you missed it, I'm not that fragile," Sol scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I know. That's why I'm asking."

He jerked around to look at Ky, who had tilted his head back to observe him, his gaze curiously intent despite the fatigue.

"…Fine." The word slipped out automatically, but to his surprise, Sol found that he meant it.

A nod, and something that might have passed for a smile under better circumstances, before Ky rolled over, bundling himself so tightly in the blanket that only the top of his head remained visible. It didn't take long for his breathing to even out after that, though there was no doubt he would startle awake again at the slightest noise.

Sol shook his head, directing his line of sight to the portholes and the darkness beyond, only broken by the occasional white shred of a cloud.

He reclined, ignoring further stabs of pain when his back met the wall a little too hard. There were a couple of things he should be doing, like cataloguing the missing pieces for the limiter and ordering an adequate replacement for the meat cleaver.

However, his mind was still stuck on the sentiment beginning to seep into his consciousness, baffling and oddly new.

_I'm… just fine._

_._

_._

_._

_.  
_

- FIN -

----

**A/N:** And that's it. XD Thanks to everyone for sticking with me for this long. Writing this thing was a serious bit of work, so here's where I'll have to say thanks to everyone who supported me through it all. *bows* As always, C&C is much appreciated.

Now for the technicalities:  
- I am very fond of Ky playing hardball.  
- Had this set to the ending theme from Le Chevalier d'Eon, "Overnight." The piece has a beautiful beat.  
- Sol is never, ever going to get over this.


End file.
